One of the things I will miss most about being in the UK for Thanksgiving is the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The anticipation builds just after Halloween until the morning of the actual event where I am absolutely giddy. I wonder what new balloons will be revealed. I look with anticipation to see where the marching bands hail from. I hope beyond hope that the Broadway musical highlighted is one I have been wanting to see and not that middle-aged creepy ELF dude from years past. I still have nightmares...
Truth is, the anticipation is greater than the actual event. After the hype and build-up, it is really just a bunch of folks walking down the street. Sometimes they even walk in time with the music. I have actually been in a fair few parades myself. As a self-professed and proud band geek, I participated in the annual Christmas parade in my hometown from grades 7-12. I cannot say I have loads of fond memories of these events.
Our town is a bedroom community linked by a bridge or two to Augusta, Georgia across the Savannah River. In the olden days, we would join forces with said larger city and parade from North Augusta into Augusta. That parade route was three miles in its entirety. Can I just say, I don't care how catchy the Christmas tune is that you are playing, after three miles it sounds like crap. And speaking of crap, we always seemed to follow the horses in any given parade. Oh sure, they had clown costumed pooper-scoopers that were supposed to clean up any large piles of slippery foul smelling poo, but inevitably they were entirely too busy clowning to get them all. Many a pair of plain black, mass produced, booster issued, lace-up band shoes were ruined by the lax work ethic of those callous clowns.
Our band director was a true musician. Mr. B directed us in stirring renditions of the most challenging and beautiful musical scores. We were known for our prowess in concert band music. Mr. B participated in parades and marching competitions mostly out of PR necessity, rather than for the sheer pleasure of hauling 150 rambunctious teens around and hearing them play such classical masterpieces as Grandma Got Run Over by A Reindeer and I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas. One year for our holiday concert, we performed Russian Christmas Music, a soaring, grand piece with chimes and tympani and glorious french horns. The piece was awe inspiring and played to perfection. Being that he was such a maestro, Mr. B. adapted the finale for us to play in the Christmas parade. Really? I give him props for ingenuity and ambition and the fleeting hope that some child would request Russian Christmas Music next year over Alvin and The Chipmunks pining for a HOO-la HOOp. Let me just say Russian Christmas Music is a difficult piece to translate to marching band. For use in a parade. Whilst dodging horse patties.
I feel for the thousands of Macy's Parade bound band geeks who have worked tirelessly washing cars and selling endless boxes of citrus just for the privilege of getting up at 4 am in the freezing cold to march for miles with the faint hope of getting 5 seconds of TV coverage knowing full well the cameras will be focused on that one flag girl who is always a half beat off. They will convince themselves the experience was worth the 14 hour bus trip with a stopped up toilet and non-working TV monitors. They will exclaim how they also got to tour New York City and saw all the sights in the 3.5 hours allotted before having to re-board the putrid bus for home.
My sister and I always cheer the loudest for the smaller bands whose booster clubs have dreamt for years of this very day. We always think of the sacrifices large and small made just so a cynical public can question their choice of music, although you have to agree some are less than inspiring. We usually end up yelling at the screen for those insipid announcers to SHUT UP so we can hear every nanosecond of yet another version of UP on the Housetop.
I will miss watching the parade this year. Turns out they don't celebrate Thanksgiving in the UK. My sister and daughter will tune in without me this year. No Snoopy or Curious George or Kermit The Frog balloons this year for me. I will not endure a single lip-synced pop tune or Rockette inspired kick-line. No staying glued to the TV when the National Dog Show, brought to us by Purina, comes on just after Santa gives his final Ho-Ho-Ho's to the crowd. I guess as much as I cynically snark about the bands and floats and production numbers, turns out I really do love a parade.
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