The fourth
of the July is easily one of the best holidays. Christmas, as everyone knows,
is untouchable; the highest in the pantheon of holidays. Easter is another
great holiday and while I appreciate more what is being celebrated, when it
comes to celebrating, pagans do it best. And we really haven’t improved on the
formula. Slaughter the fattened calf, stick him on a grill, make some burgers,
jump in the river (pool), and then burn up the sky. The fourth is the most
organic holiday we have.
In Provo
there is one element however that has always been hard for me to appreciate, the parade. It’s
not that a grand procession doesn’t have its place in a patriotic holiday; I
just don’t understand how it is so integral that people will be camping over
twenty-four hours in advance. My earliest memories of the parade were, as a
seven-year-old, thinking, “It is hot, things are moving way too slowly, and
frankly this is not that interesting.”
This year,
very possibly my last fourth in Provo, I was determined to understand this
ritual so foreign to me. So when my friend Erick was asking for volunteers to
help with the parade, there was only one response. I had to confront the
unknown and wade right into that knee-deep parade horse (refuse).
Literally
that was not necessary, Erick was in charge of the balloons, but I was ready
for anything.
I was told to be at the staging area in the
parking lot near the BYU indoor practice facility for the parade by 7:00. I
dutifully set my alarm to 6:30, hoping to have time for a nice breakfast. I
need a good breakfast. I had trouble sleeping the whole night excited for the
following day’s excitement but I eventually fell asleep with my head cranked in
some awful position. I woke up with a kink in my neck and considered rolling
back asleep when I looked at the window realizing that it was way too light to
be 6:30 am. I bolted out of bed and my instincts were right, 6:53. I picked out some blue shorts and a red shirt, ran to the kitchen,
smeared some peanut butter on an untoasted English muffin and ate it as I was
walking out the door invariably ending up with some peanut butter on my shirt. Here
I was about to parade around town with peanut butter on my shirt.
On the way
to the parking lot I see participants for the freedom run 5k that precedes the
race. I assumed that I was near the end of the race as many people were walking
slowly and jogging, then I heard the DJ at the start of the race, “C’mon
everyone! You can make it! We will be shutting down the start of the race in 10
minutes. You can make it to the starting line!” One man in particular caught my
eye. He was a little over middle-aged and warming up as if he were running
Boston. At the last moment he bursts across the line at a pace that I would be
proud to keep. He then flew by all the mom’s pushing strollers. I guess
some people just like to pass others.
I get to the
parking lot at about 7:20 and make my way over to the balloons. Helium is at an
ever-growing premium price. It’s actually quite the crises in the scientific
world. So I was quite glad to hear that our floats were not being filled with
helium but rather inflated by an air pump and generator. I was a little less
happy when the generator was on and buzzing in my ear for the next three hours,
but all in the name of science.
There I see
a man that could pass as the real slim shady and who had let himself go. His name was Chuck. I don’t mean to single
out anyone or be judgmental; I only mention it as stark contrast to pretty much
everything one would expect to find in small local parade in Utah marching inflatable
characters through the roads. It took me a while to convince myself he was
actually wearing a doo-rag on BYU property before I started to pay attention to
what he was saying. He was basically telling us that we were to pull the
balloons in a forward direction. I can handle that. He then explained that at
some low-lying power lines it might be necessary to unplug the float so the balloon
deflates enough to get under the lines, and then plug the balloon back in once
past. I was slightly intimidated by that job description.
After the
explanation I learned that the balloons weren’t supposed to leave until 9:20. It
was 7:30. To all volunteer organizations, I don’t know why the fact that I am willing
to give some of my time causes you to believe that you can make me sit around
for hours before doing anything, give me an XL shirt because for some reason
you decided to make more of that size than any other, listen to exaggerated
explanations about how your organization is changing America, or give me a cold
donut and tell me it is breakfast. I just want to get in, do good, and get out,
and unless it’s court or American-Heritage ordered, I imagine most the world
feels the same way.
I spent the
first few minutes sitting under a tree.
My self-conscious fears of wearing a shirt with trace amounts of peanut
butter on it were only fueled by the ants that started climbing on me. I obviously had gotten the peanut butter off
and maybe I just accidentally sat on an ant pile, but I needed to change shirts
and fast. Luckily they had volunteer
shirts. Of course the only size left was XL and 5XL. That is not a misprint. We skipped to not double, not triple, not
quadruple, but went straight to quintuple extra-large. I tried it on.
I’m pretty sure three people my size could
have worn that shirt. I settled on an
extra-large.
With the plethora
of time available I decided to go check out the other floats. The first thing I
noticed was, of course, the tank. How
could I not?
The second
was how many miss-small town girls there were. What are the rules of location
in beauty pageantism? Do you have to be from the actual town or can you move in?
How much competition is there? I feel like I would be capable to finish in the top-five
in some of these smaller towns. What compels a person to enter a contest of
beauty, are there golden apples? I thought Homer made it very clear that such
things do not end well.
My
attention was soon drawn to another float and more questions. Why does the U of
U decide to parade a float every year in Provo? Is this meant to make the
parade awkward? What school administrator thought this was a good idea? Does
he/she still have a job? I’m not one to get ruffled up over a rivalry in which
both teams usually finish outside the AP poll (There I said it! Neither one of
us is that good. That goes for you too Utah State!), but why is their float
always better than ours?
I am so glad to be going to a real rivalry for graduate
school (I am sure to eat those words).
Fortunately
my mind was relieved of these questions of the soul by the arrival of my Chinese
friends Roger and Judy who had volunteered as well. The same way that I am my worst critic, many Americans,
including myself, are America’s worst critics, much worse than even the French in my
opinion. Yet nothing melts my heart like
when a foreigner shows patriotism towards our country. They don’t have to, and yet
they still give love. We are far from perfect, but we must be doing something
right. What’s more I left home without
my wallet, asked Roger if he could loan me some money to buy some oatmeal at
Burger King. I’m sure someday my kids
will have to pay for that oatmeal but until then I’ll just keep living the
American dream. I’ll celebrate the
fourth with the Chinese any day. (I’m
kidding Roger I have the cash and will pay you next time I see you. Thanks I was starving!)
The parade
was to be started by a host of emergency vehicles. While they were waiting for the start I
couldn’t help but notice that a fire truck was sitting unattended door wide
open. I couldn’t resist.
I climbed up on in and sat at the steering
wheel for exactly 1.8 seconds before I scampered on down, but my inner-child had time to let out a sigh of contentment.
Finally it
was game time. The balloons were to be
inflated. One was clearly Fred
Flintstone, the other was an Uncle Sam, (Judy explained to use that Uncle Sam
came from U.S.A.M. Once again, the Fourth with the Chinese is great) but the
final balloon was a mystery until it was inflated, but when it stood it was all
too perfect, Felix the cat.
As one of
the few members of my generation who has any idea who Felix is, allow me to
explain. Felix is a cartoon cat with a
magical bag that he can pull anything out of. I have an aunt who has excellent
taste in collectibles and for a period she collected Felix the Cat paraphernalia.
Felix was a childhood manifestation of that part of us that loves a band simply
because nobody else has heard of them.
Felix was hipster for Saturday morning cartoons. More importantly Felix will forever be
associated with family for me. Felix
will always have a special place in my heart.
I was in
charge of Felix and I was ready. We
started to move into the parade line ready to roll. At this point Roger’s roommate (American)
Michael had showed up and we got in our positions. I took my position at the front of the float
when the attendant in charge of our float, an employee named Jamari, tapped me
on the shoulder and asked if I would be willing to stand in the back and pull
the plug to deflate the balloon under the power lines as needed. Was I scared? Yes, but I was ready. I circled up the crew, Judy, Michael, Roger,
put out our hands and led a “1, 2, 3, Team!” To my pleasure Jamari joined
between 2 and 3.
The
importance of this step was reiterated by announcement that these were $30,000
balloons. Had I stopped and thought about this figure I probably would have
realized how ridiculous it was. I mean
you are essentially choosing between investing in the down payment towards a $150,000 home or an
inflatable comic character from the twenties.
In fact a Google search right now reveals that an inflatable balloon
costs no more than $450. Yet in the moment I was willing to put life and limb
between harm and Felix.
As we were
about to leave Jamari gave me the stern reminder, “You know you have the most
important job.” I gave no words but nodded slowly. I must have expressed weakness in some way however, as Chuck saw some inherent flaw in my composition and
decided to delegate my duties to another.
Who am I to complain? This was Chuck’s world. I graciously retook my spot in the gallows as
a simple puller of the float.
We got in
line but were still waiting. What does
one do when one has way too much excitement and energy? Why Tecktoniks of course! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbzYXWLVU3o. I’d give an explanation but that would just ruin
it. Just know I didn’t initiate it.
Soon we
were off. No sooner had the parade route
started than people started yelling at us to spin the balloon. Jamari told us that the float could come undone
if we were to do so and the unspoken havoc that this would cause was left
unsaid. Yet like a child determined to
play with the electrical socket the crowd demanded over and over again that we
spin the balloon. I tried every
parenting technique I knew to abate the crowd.
I tried reasoning with them, explaining how dangerous it could be. I tried to pass the blame, pointing the finger
at Jamari. I tried to divert their
attention, explaining to them that it really isn’t that cool to see a balloon
turn. And like any parent we eventually
caved and spun the balloon just in front of the Provo Library. However, it is never enough. Immediately exiting
the spin a particularly vocal man demanded we do another. I explained that we just had to which he
responded, “Why do you hate America?” Let this be a lesson though to all you
future balloon pullers out there. If you give a mouse a cookie, he will tell
you that you hate America.
All of this
was a small grain amidst the smiles of and waves from children and other caring
individuals. In particular one lady
standing at 100 S giving us a strong steady clap with a proud face as if to
tell us, “I don’t know who you are or where you are going, but today you are a
balloon puller and I salute you.” It’s moments like that which make it all
worth it.
Along the
way MC’s gave tidbits of history to the crowd who clearly had no idea who this
floating cat was. I learned that Felix
debuted in 1919 on the silver screen. He
was also the first giant balloon ever, participating in the 1927 Macy’s day
parade. One MC even went as far as to
say “He has been adored by millions and is America’s favorite cat.” You hear that Garfield, the Aristocats, and
Grumpy Cat? King Felix has not yet given up his throne.
We finished
the route and took the balloon to its de-staging area. As we were entering Jamari told us that the parade
was a walk to remember. I answered that I would never look at life the
same. We enjoyed our last moments
pulling a balloon and approaching Chuck and the other floats. At this point Chuck had taken off his shirt
only to expose several tatoos adding to the overall effect. We thanked
the crew and asked where they would go next.
Chuck told us that they travelled “The world, Japan, Argentina, France,
Europe,” participating in parades. I
briefly imagined how disappointed a parade planner in Japan would be to fly in
this crew, before I decided just to be like the balloon and go with the
flow. This is their world and I am but a
grateful transient observer.
As we were
walking away leaving Jamari asked if we would be back next year. It was with a twinge of regret that I
realized I had come to “get” the parade and surprise of all surprises, would
miss it. I told him that I was moving away
and likely not.
“Where to?”
“Durham,
North Carolina,”
“Oh you’ll
love it there. You have to go to Bojangles!”
http://www.bojangles.com/locations/us/nc Consider it done Jamari. Consider it done.
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