It was to start at 10 a.m. The newspaper was predicting 350,00 people for the annual affair.
We finally found a place to park. It was easy knowing where to go, just follow the crowd. �Crowd� was putting it mildly. We were ten blocks away, and I swear, there was 50,000 people ahead of us.
The congregations eventually thinned out as people changed directions by going to the left or right to other blocks with the hope of lesser mass. We stayed true to the course.
We got to within a decent observable �standing room only� area.
I stood behind of a trash barrel with the thot that no one would stand in front of me to block my view.
The numbers increased as people kept coming. I looked around, more people were behind us than in front. People shuffled thru the group and disappeared with the hope of getting closer somewhere else.
I felt sorry for the little kids. They couldn�t see over the adults, their only view was of kneecaps or ankles.
A police siren sounded announcing the beginning of the parade and making its way towards us.
As if on cue, twenty parents hoist the kids up to their shoulders blocking my view, all I see is the back of tiny backs.
The trash barrel does no good since a woman places her five-year old daughter carefully on the rim, now I can no longer see in front of me.
I look in the barrel and see a mixture of coffee and popcorn, two smells I usually enjoy, but not this blend of vomit. I keep my nose in the air so I won�t have to smell this combination, besides I�ll have to look up to see the balloons anyway.
The honor guard passes, I can tell by the flags fluttering above the heads of the crowd. Next comes the parade posse on horses. Those brave men and women who traditionally rode to catch the bad guys that broke from jail are now armed to catch any helium balloons that tries to escape.
I can hear music from a marching band. Just as they reach us, they stop playing, only the drums tapping a steady beat as the pass.
A convertible drives by, for a second I can see a woman dressed in a sparkling evening gown sitting atop the back seat. I can�t read the sign on the cardoor telling who she is, Ms. Texas? Ms. Dallas? Ms. Parade? She�s waving. As the car passes in the 48 degree winter weather, I can see the her open back gown exposing the hundreds of shivering goose bumps.
Ah, the first balloon, it glides down the street back and forth, rocking side to side riding the air current produced by people's "OOOO's" and "AHHH's". It�s then I remember the accident in New York City. One of the balloons made it�s break, crashed into a street lamp causing it to fall. A couple of people were killed.
I see a street light, it�s angle is about right, perpendicular to the direction the monster balloons approaching us. If it�s a direct hit, we�re history.
Intermittent marching bands, convertibles sandwiched with the 30-foot giant smiling rubber faces, I sweat each balloon that passes by. Is there a balloon with my name on it? Which one� Snoopy� Garfield� Bob the Builder? They each pass without incident.
I relax. The guy standing next to me holds his video camera over his head, the 1.5� monitor is tilted down, I watch the parade thru it. For a different angle, I switch to the guy taking pictures with his picture phone. �Gee, this sure beats watching it on a 21� television, huh?� I ask no one in particular.
The parade has been passing by for twenty minutes and people are still pouring in from behind us. They excuse themselves as the make their way to be in front of us.
Another convertible drives by displaying the action hero, Benji, or is it Benji II, III, or IV? He has a great view of the people watching but his attention is on his trainers hand.
Another soundless band goes by.
I look up to catch a breath of fresh air. If I don�t I�ll be contributing to the coffee/
popcorn salad.
I break out in a sweat, I see a balloon of Barney. He�s about fifty feet away, he looks like he�s hundred feet tall.
My mind flashes of scenes of a purple Godzilla and the slow people between his toes.
As he gets closer, tiny backs of tiny kids start bouncing on the backs of older grown ups.
My mind quickly wonders, Godzilla blew fire� Barney contains helium, right? Helium was the gas that German zeppelin used. What was it called� The Hendinberg?
My mind flashed the black and white scene of its fiery crash, the words of the reporter describing it�s meltdown, his scream fills my ears, �Oh the inhumanity�� and I start thinking of Barney, full of hot air, the little kids, �Oh the inhumanity��
Out the cornor of my eye, I see a guy lighing up a cigerette. "HEY!" I shout, "NO SMOKING!"
"Sez who?" he counters.
"That policeman over there," I lie pointing, "he said it's a fire hazard, the balloons are combustionable."
The guys eyes widen, takes the cigerette out of his mouth, "Gosh. Thanks."
About thirty people overhear our exchange. Some Parents and a couple of grandparents pick up the kids and head to the back of crowd. None of them happen to be in front of me.
And I see why. Motorcycle police are bringing up the rear, the parade is over.
Maybe next year I'll watch from my TV, coffee and popcorn in hand, not in the trash ...