main street parade
Roxboro Community School Band performs in the Christmas Parade. By Phillip Gillis
Both ends of the Boulevard are shut down-blocked. The only artery pumping cars through the town is Main Street, and the city comes to a near standstill. Electric green and red holly blinks at the top of each pole. In the distance, a flickering of blue and white police car lights entangle with the yellow restaurant glow in the nighttime sky.
Fire trucks. Cars. Floats. Horses. Truckloads of children. Bands. Girl Scouts. Boy Scouts.
“Troop 272! Form up!” our scoutmaster announces.
We hurry to find our places.
“Rows of three! Remember! Rows of three!”
“How long is this gonna take?” I ask as I tap my brother on the shoulder. He shrugs.
“Stick together. Don’t get lost. Any questions?”
“How long-”
“Good! There goes the sirens. That means the parade is starting.”
We scurry to find our places.
“Who are WE?” our leader asks.
“Troop 272!”
“Where are we from?
“Allensville!”
“Annnnnnd… Your left… Your left… Your left. Right. Left.”
I look at my fellow Cub Scouts and think Maybe we should have practiced marching in rhythm once or twice before now. Oh well.
We turn the corner and head down Madison Boulevard…
***
The hillbilly car in front of me backfires, and I’m suddenly in a light blue basketball uniform-Roxboro Wranglers. In front of the hillbillies are seven horses.
I look at my brother as he is shaking and trying to get as much warmth from his lungs into his hands as possible. Luckily, our mom made us wear sweatpants under our shorts. Some of our teammates did not get that memo and were freezing.
“Alright, boys. I know it is cold, but remember four things. First, you are the Wranglers. Second, stick with the group. Third, look up and fourth, make sure you also look down.”
“Look down?” I ask my brother.
“Potholes… I guess.”
“Oh.”
We pass The Rink-a-Dink and The Golden Skillet.
I look up to the right where TG&Y used to be – where I bought sooooo many Star Wars toys just a few years ago. The last one was Yoda. Now it is a furniture store that later will be another furniture store.
“Hey!” I punch my brother and say, “That guy looks like our coach.”
“Yeah. He-”
“Ewwwwwwwwww!” someone ahead of us yells as the rest of the group dodges what lies in the road
Our coach laughs and says, “I told you boys to look up AND down. Now you see why?”
The horses whinny.
***
The siren of a firetruck blares, and I’m a student at Northern Junior High… or is it Northern Middle School? I see the colors of my jersey shift-light blue to orange. The writing on the front changes as well-Roxboro Wranglers to Joe’s Dry Cleaners. Other names and colors fell in the years between – one year a green jersey, another black, and even dark blue once which doesn’t really matter to a half-colorblind person..
Our coaches change as well – my dad, my friend’s dad, and even a random guy from Parks and Rec.
I stumble over my feet as I’ve grown a foot in a year.
“Well this is awkward… literally.”
“Quit bragging because you hit your growth spurt first,” my little brother says.
“OK, shorty.” He punches me. I wince. We walk past Tire South as my mind flips through all the Nintendo games and movies we rented from there.
Did we return that Ninja Turtle game? Ducktales…oooohhhhh! I think to myself.
“One thing is MUCH better this parade,” my brother says.
“What?”
“At least this year we are in front of the horses!”
We laugh as the team marches on through the parade.
***
The blast from my brother’s trumpet changes the scenery from Madison Boulevard to Main Street. Houses built in the early 1900s line both sides of the street as we make our way up the hill to the business area of uptown. I flashback to earlier in the day when we marched through Alton, Va.; however, the main difference was that we walked between houses, pastures, and an occasional small store.
My fingers slide against the keys of my saxophone, and I’m thankful I don’t play drums or the tuba as we march up the hill.
“Jingle Bell Rock! Instruments ready!” Mr. Cannon announces. “Ready! One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Ready. Play!”
I remember at the end of summer when he walked into the hardware store and said he noticed that my name was not on his class list for band, which he said must be a mistake. I said it was not. He assured me it was because he was retiring after the school year, and he put me back on his list.
I said, “Yessir.”
***
Life. Early 20’s. Life. Life. And more life.
I missed a few parades.
I’m really not sure why…
***
“Ho ho ho! Merrrrrrrry Christmas!” bellows the jolly, old man from the sleigh being pulled on the back of a white trailer – eight plastic, white reindeer in front of him.
The door on the back of my Jeep is open and aimed at the road. My two children scurry around at the bottom of the bank collecting the last remnants of candy from the street: Laffy Taffy, Twizzlers, Dum Dums, and the occasional chocolate.
“How many fire trucks did you count?” my brother asks the children from the top of the hill.
“Seven trucks!” my son announces proudly. “I said seven and I counted seven!”
I look at my daughter. She shakes her head.
“I said nine. There were seven trucks…”
“Yes!” my son shouts as he fistpumps in the air and runs up the hill to my brother. “That’ll be $5 PLEASE for guessing the right number,” he says with an outstretched hand. “And I been thinking. I might play basketball this year.”
“And I think I’m gonna join band since I’m in middle school,” my daughter says.
“You know anything about that?” I ask my brother as I throw my arm around his shoulder.
“Maybe. Just maybe. But…” His voice changes to a whisper as he leans down and calls his niece and nephew over and wraps his arms around them. “But don’t forget the most important rule if you are ever in a parade.” Their eyes widen. “You always… ALWAYS… want to go in front of the horses.” The children look confused, but we laugh.
