A Norman Rockwell Afternoon

Linda Burton posting from Pierre, South Dakota – “Here come the flags!” The little boy standing beside me stared big-eyed; his father coached him with enthusiastic phrases. “Just look at that! Flags, and the band!” I felt the enthusiasm myself; the high-stepping band drew all eyes towards them as they marched center street; the shower of candies flung from the floats brought squeals as kids scrambled to pick up the treasured sugar treats. It’s Homecoming Week at the high school, and that means, of course, a parade. I had parked the Scion on Missouri and walked to the corner of Pierre Street just as the drums came down the hill. The drums, and the horns; the floats and the firetrucks; the brightly painted vans and the dogs-on-a-leash wearing neckscarves of green, to match their owners shirts. A parade is all about showing off, marching right in front of the world to strut your stuff. A Homecoming Parade is a celebration of spirit; the spirit of the school; the spirit of the town. And the town loves to watch. » read more