Our town's Christmas parade has a very special place in the festivities-adoring section of my heart, mainly due to the fact that I have been a participant in it for many, many years.
There's something so joyful and awesome about a parade that is just full of people who line up to promenade gleefully as a celebration of the season.
That and candy. I mean come on, who doesn't like candy?
Anyway, this year was a special parade for me because for the first time in almost a decade I got to be a spectator instead of a parade participant. Talk about a change of perspective.
To be honest, as I stood on the snow coated sidewalk of our town's Maine Street, it dawned on me that I had never actually watched the Christmas parade, so yes, I got a little excited.
That enthusiasm was shared by one of my parade watching buddies, Mr. Squish. My pal Squish is three years old and that dude was buzzing with parade anticipation glee.
Buzzing might not even be a good enough of a descriptor, little bruh could barely hold still. Not that three year olds do that well anyway.
Still, it was pretty fantastic to stand on the sidewalk and experience the parade through the awestruck wonder lens of my little buddy.
The first thing he did was make friends with the little girl next to him and before you could say candy cane stuck in my hair they were both buried waist deep in the snow berm behind us and gleefully throwing the floof at each other.
The other small fry's grandparents were just as amused as we all were by the kiddo's antics.
But then, the parade began and over the din of the gathered crowd and the squeal of the police car sirens came a bellow that still makes me chuckle when I think about it,
OH MY GOSH! FIRETRUCK! THERE'S THE FIRETRUCK!
My bud Squish has a very well developed speech ability for a toddler and his elocution is top notch. He's also louder than a group of outraged mom's on Facebook.
Everyone in a two block radius heard his shout of firetruck caused glee. It was pretty awesome.
Our town's Christmas parade is super small, so small in fact that each of the entrants go around the block and pass back through Maine street at least two times. This year was a special treat because they went three rounds.
And being a small rural community we get cool things like cranes with blow up snowmen strapped to them and local artists pulling sleds adorned with teddy bears.
And the UTV brigade always makes an appearance.
But the star of the parade is always Santa, and this year's Santa did an excellent job working the crowd. Also, I think he's excelling at his low carb diet, that Santa was pretty dang fit.
But that observation aside, Santa's appearance brought about the best part of our evening, at least from a spectator's point of view.
Santa was walking down the street, shaking hands with people and getting hugs from very elated kiddos. When he passed by our group, Squish looked up at his mom and said, I want to go say hi to Santa!
She told him go ahead, but like a lot of people, by the time he worked up courage and ran toward Ol Saint Nick, he had already moved on down the crowd line.
Squish was devestated by this and threw his snowsuit clad form onto the ground in the street wailing.
It was awesome. I died.
But like all good Christmas stories, this one had a miracle and a happy ending. Santa worked his way back towards us, and this time Squish didn't let the opportunity pass him by. He hit Santa's legs harder than a jacked defensive back. I laughed out loud then, profusely.
Santa was pretty awesome about being mauled by the adoring toddler and patted him on the back. Me, I felt like witnessing the whole scene of childhood awesomeness was the best existential present ever.
And before you could say Ho, ho, ho, and mistletoe the parade was over. Not that I was sad about it. Sometimes the best memories are the ones that happen during brief, festive interludes.
Especially when there are over-exuberant toddlers about.
