What’s to Become of Our Parades? Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

What’s to Become of Our Parades? Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

We started the July 4th celebration on the evening before by walking along the Bristol Harbor to position ourselves for the best view of the fireworks. Joyful families walked alongside. The stroll was worth it as the fireworks were everything we expected, returning us to youth, as they do every year. The show continued when, as we walked home, a flotilla of boats rumbled out of the harbor, displaying a necklace of lights to accompany us. And soon the 4th would be upon us.

Until we bought our home on the Bristol route, we had not seen the parade, even though we grew up in Rhode Island. Over the years, it has been a treasure as a welcoming magnet for our children, grandchildren, friends, and relatives.

The rising summer sun announced a cool day, with low humidity. Perfect. Watchers (not our guests) positioned themselves in front of our house at five AM, at least six hours before the parade was to pass by. Children sprawled out on multi-colored blankets. Chairs snapped open. Coolers smacked down. Those sounds of eager anticipation awakened us. No matter. It’s parade day.

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The parade was everything it was supposed to be, perhaps more this year because COVID had dampened the previous three. The crowd was bubbling with excitement as they sat under the dazzling sun, protected by umbrellas, sunblock, and multicolored hats.

The sirens in the distance brought people to their feet, leaning forward for a better look; kids wandering to the center of the street standing on the red, white, and blue line. Canons, drums. Boom, Bang, Boom.  Parents beckoned their children. They skipped, faces shining, with joy.

Flags of all colors, the American predominate. Bands, cheerleaders, celebrities, clowns, Clydesdales, drum and bugle corps, balloons, politicians, vendors, Mr. Potato Head, town officials, parade marshals, and their court . . . waving, prancing, happy, all of them.

When the parade ended, we retired to the rear yard for our traditional cookout. At day’s end, we were tired but delighted. It was another successful, and invigorating, 4th of July.

I went to the porch to tidy up. I looked along the street. After hours of joy, the crowd had dispersed. There was now a welcomed quiet. At least I thought the quiet would be welcomed. But just before, I had heard the news from Chicago. Another mass shooting. Happy people, now snuffed away by a bullet. More pain and suffering. Oh, so much suffering. My joy turned to stunned disbelief. Sadness swamped my day. On this 4th of July. What is happening in this country?

The setting sun was casting shadows along what had been a sacred ground for the previous few hours. The fading light was dimming the patriotic line where earlier, parade-happy marchers were flanked by enthusiastic spectators. I wondered, “What’s to become of our parade? Will I invite guests . . . families, friends . . . next year? Will we even come out of the house?”

You bet we will! This is America. I believe in it.