Topic: A Parade

Topic: A Parade

I love a parade.  Always have, always will.  Every Memorial Day growing up I’d march in the North College Hill parade with my Girl Scout troop and later playing the clarinet in the band.  I love the pageantry and the spectacle of a parade, the way it takes ordinary things and celebrates them, puts them on display.  When I was a young mom trying to get my kids to clean out the fridge before grocery day, I’d announce that dinner that night was “Leftovers on Parade”!  It made even week-old leftovers seem festive when I put them all out in nice serving dishes.  I guess it technically wasn’t a parade, but the kids bought it.  

One of my favorite parades was a total surprise.  I was on the campus of the University of Iowa in the summer of 2001.  I was a 36 year old divorced mom of two.  My kids were back home in Cincinnati.  The man I was dating at the time was an alum, and he was showing me and his two sons, Scott and Justin, who were 11 and 9, respectively, around his old school.   We were just coming out of bar for a late lunch when I heard a marching band.  The sound of the drums and horns always gave me a rush.  We stepped out into the heat just in time to see a parade! 

And not just any parade, this was a pride parade.  

There were rainbow flags and floats with drag queens dancing on them.  Justin remarked, “Those ladies are really tall,” and I had to explain drag to him.  There was no RuPaul’s Drag Race yet to conveniently reference so it took it a minute for him to get the concept.  After the marching band passed, a group of public officials passed by while Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family” played in the background.  We saw guys holding hands with other guys, and Scott asked me, “What do you think about that, Bridg?  Do you think that’s okay?”  And he asked the question in such a way that I felt it was a test of sorts.  

“Yeah, Scott, I think it’s just fine.  I think they look pretty happy.”  Scott smiled, and said, “Yeah, me too.”  Then a bunch of bearded guys in a pick up truck drove past and I tried to explain their banner which said “Iowa Bears Club” and that they didn’t mean polar bears or grizzly bears.  I remember thinking that I wish my kids had been there to witness this parade.  At the time I had only heard of pride parades.  I’ve been to several since then, but this was one was special because it was my first, and because we happened upon it so serendipitously. 

The highlight of the afternoon came when a beautiful young woman wearing a rainbow bikini and a red satin cape with the words “Power of the Pussy” emblazoned on the back trailed at the end of the parade.  

As we headed back to our car Justin asked me, “Power of the pussy.  What does that mean, Bridgid?”  Again, it felt like a test, and I was amused that these boys didn’t ask their father a single question throughout the whole parade experience.  I think my boyfriend was also amused and maybe a bit relieved that the boys leveled all the questions at me.  

“Well, Justin, I think it means that she’s proud to be a woman.”

“What about you, Bridg,” he asked, “Are you proud to be a woman?”

“Yeah, Justin, I’m pretty damn proud to be a woman,” I replied as we headed back to our hotel.