Cotton Candy Kid

E. Boyer

Our parade...Pipsy Tipsy!  What a crowd! Chalk it up to good ‘ole Piedmont patriotism and the green light to start drinking before noon! What’s the point of independence if not the freedom to get shnockered on your front porch mid-morning?  What the heck, count me in! I happily take my spot at curbside every year amidst the throng on Highland Avenue.

Ever the observer, I had a few thoughts:

Is it me or have we been short on floats the past few years? Maybe I’m remembering it wrong or getting it mixed-up with parades from my childhood, but it seems like we used to have more floats. I know we have flatbeds with dancing kids atop and the occasional costumed parent, but I’m referring to the papier-mache variety that takes 6 months to construct. Is the coveted Highland Cup no longer enough to summon the fighting clansman spirit? Have we lost the edge that drove us to our garages, attics and craft stores in search of bits of inspiration that would crush the competing neighbor floats? Crepe paper, plywood, bailing twine, chicken wire, all to achieve just the right finishing touches to our float entries (Fourth of July and Homecoming, for that matter.) I would have thought that the younger crowd, now with children of their own, would take the reins; that seems to be when this sort of inspiration is ignited. Not a criticism, just a curiosity for the future of things.  I think, perhaps the young folks, who are typically the life-blood of such traditions aren’t in town for the Fourth as often as they once were. Summering. Travelling. Camps. Today’s exhausted mother of three will only once be convinced to stay in town for the parade if other destinations beckon.  After that and it’s “Sorry, the kids are going to camp and I’m going to the lake for a week of peace and quiet. There’s a dock and a stack of magazines and I don’t intend to miss either for 45 minutes of dogs and cars.”  Ouch! O.k., we get it; a hodge-podge of cars (although this year they really were quite good!) lots of dogs in spangled ribbon and a truly strange gaggle of men wearing inner tubes isn’t quite the lure one needs to stay in town. 

Allow an old gal a few suggestions, keeping in mind that I just returned from said parade and I write from my front porch where, indeed I sit with a Bloody Mary into which I put 6 pieces of bacon, thus blaming the following on sodium…

Throw the damned candy! Listen carefully; there is but one reason that a child between the ages of 3 and 13 is interested in going to a parade. Candy.  In fact, the only reason kids this age get out of bed on any morning is the omnipresent hope that at some point during the day the opportunity for candy might present itself.  I know; your kid “doesn’t really like candy.”  Yes, they do and it’s the only reason they want to go to the parade. Tossing peppermints or Tootsie Rolls out of a car during a parade is like giving out toothbrushes on Halloween.  It’s bunk.  Full-size Kit Kats, folks!  Rule of thumb; if it doesn’t leave a little bruise when it bonks them on the forehead, it wasn’t big enough. The kids will happily endure a little roughing-up as a means to an end.  They’re kids and we’re talkin’ candy. They understand the risks and it’s a mission they’re willing to accept.

Something to further ruffle the anti-candy-throwing feathers: SuperSoakers.  Remember those?  The giant, high-powered water gun with a 40-foot stream! Why not take the take the sugar component to the next level? You want a happy kid, blast ‘em in the kisser with an Icee-filled SuperSoaker…I recommend cherry cola. Picture it; kids standing wide-mouthed like baby birds waiting for the mayor or some other local such-and-such to take aim and fire.  Shrieks of excitement all around! It would surpass their wildest dreams and they would look upon being the “target” of such cold, sugary goodness as the single most important moment in their childhood. Yes, it’ll be messy; that’s why God created soap. The Icee SuperSoaker.  100%, yes, yes, yes.

Cotton Candy. Forget the paper cone and let’s get a cotton candy dunk tank; arms and legs straight into the spinner. Voila! Cotton candy kid! It will instantly blow their little minds and they’ll be occupied for hours eating the sugary web off of their own limbs.  C’mon, folks, get the little tykes off the devices and send them for a full-body plunge into the cotton candy twirl-a-whirl! They’ll be revved-up like Howler monkeys from all the sugar, but they’ll run it off afterwards at the block party and then around 7:30 they’ll crash and burn and sleep like little angels until morning.  A win-win! Now, where’s the harm in that?

The giant Snail was an attention-grabber, no question. Why?  Fire.  We see fire and it sparks our primal flame. We’re drawn to it’s hypnotic powers. Fire invokes our inferno-powered superego.  We imagine ourselves flying in on the backs of fire-breathing dragons on a mission of vengeance and retribution.  Kids imagine a similar scenario, but with unicorns, minions and hamsters....all fire-breathing.  Yes, indeed, fire stirs the soul and gives an event such as a parade a certain flare that can’t be underestimated. As this year’s fire-breathing snail began it’s journey down Highland I had a moment of concern that it’s flames might set ablaze the arc of balloons overhead and wouldn’t that have been a spectacle?  But, I quickly reminded myself that Piedmont prides itself on a phenomenal fire department and they’d have us covered in the event of any such mishap. And by the way, given that papier-mache might make a comeback it’s not unreasonable to imagine that mishaps could occur.  Still, going forward I say that the float with the biggest fire component is the clear winner!

That’s it.  That’s all I have in the way of suggestions for the parade.  Yes, this is precisely why they won’t let me sit on the parade committee.

Happy summer!  Next stop, 7-Eleven for an Icee, which could be a disaster after all that bacon.

Pancakes, then off the cliff

E. Boyer

Something pleasant, to start…Sunday morning is often dad-duty in Piedmont. I seldom venture much beyond Piedmont on Sundays, therefore my Sunday observations are limited to these 10.5 square miles.  If you haven’t experienced an early Piedmont Sunday morning on foot, I must caution that you’re “pleasant experience account” is at a deficit.  Piedmont, in the early hours before all the gears start churning is hard to beat.  It’s a lovely calm of green and quiet and in these pre-sunshine hours, the charming, old houses, tended lawns and thoughtful little parks are beautifully softened with an air-brushing of sorts, a magical gauzy filter that the best photo app could never recreate. 

It’s in these wee Sunday hours that dads and kids are soft-shoeing around the grass and play structures and sandy pits. Some sit silently enjoying their coffee, observing as their toddlers explore the curiosities that abound, allowing them to teeter and tumble, dig, poke, prod and occasionally eat things that aren’t necessarily food.  Others take the opportunity to impart wisdom on how best to stack the twigs or mold the sand; once the goopy blob resembles something, they give their final assessment with cheerful enthusiasm, “You made a pancake!  That’s very impressive!”  I can’t help but wonder if the toddler thought it looked more like Howard, the family dog.  It doesn’t matter.  It’s dads and kids spending a glorious morning in the park...love and quality-time wrapped into one.  It’s this softer side of Piedmont that is so completely enchanting. 

Once the gears in our town do start to churn and the day-to-day starts rolling it can be harder to spot those tender moments….

Just up the hill from the charming father-child scene there’s the still-contentious lawn over which, it’s rumored, never-seen Methusela’esque creatures stand watch in the event that a dog cavorts about and mucks it up, rendering the lawn useless; for what, I don’t know. I would have thought that cavorting dogs were the very purpose of such a grassy patch. Turns out, you can get a hefty ticket for that. Such a silly thing.

From there it veers off the cliff.  Topics that used to seem paramount are now trivial side notes; the abysmally sub-standard community pool, a so-called athletic director hired under questionable circumstances, cell towers, the lack of transparency within the PUSD, playfields, acts of hate and racism in our schools.  Those have all been put on the back burner these past few months when a controversial Mayor, Facebook and un-fit teachers took center stage.

There was a time when I foolishly thought social media might be a handy tool for recipe exchanges and seeing photos of friends and family in distant corners. Focus your audio, folks: if you plan on dipping your toe in the political pool on Facebook, gird yourself sufficiently; it’s not for the tender hearted. 

You see, our President is off his kadoova, which has emboldened some to spout their inner-most ugly thoughts in the form of posts, which in turn has all the “friends” on Facebook bickering like wild cats.  Honestly, the fur was flying.  It goes something like this: you snuggle-up on your couch in your stretchy weekend pants with a bowl of Kettle Chips, a glass of wine and laptop at the ready. Then, you log onto Facebook and as if by witchcraft you suddenly feel cloaked in anonymity and
un-touchability.  You see a post that gets in your craw and before you know it you’re typing a blue streak; teeth grinding, expletives flying, jaw clenching and then it happens…you hit the button that lets the whole world know your darkest stretchy-pants-wine-and-kettle chip-induced thoughts.  And just like that you go from being a regular old city council member and Mayor to an absolute oddity and outcast. Poof!

Sadly, there’s another troubling topic on Piedmont’s list of current events: in the coming weeks we’ll hear a lot of about the difference between a crime and something that is merely inappropriate.  We’ll hear that men have been objectifying women and girls since the beginning of time.  We’ll hear that the only reason this is coming about is because of the Harvey Weinstein accusers. Don’t be fooled or intimidated, folks.  The PUSD and it’s band of unconditional supporters will defend the institution like Davey Crockett at the Alamo.  It’s a blindness that I truly cannot comprehend.  Administrative leave? God sakes, is Mr. Booker so far gone that he can’t see even the most obvious wrongdoing?  When will this public servant rise to the position and stop putting on a show at the expense of our children?  Why we would ever tolerate such abhorrent behavior from someone charged with educating our children is beyond me.  I often wonder why, in a situation like this we don’t storm the walls and demand that a teacher such as the one on this case be immediately removed.  How I long for a bit of activism!  Achieve the honorable?  My goodness, Mr. Booker, we aren’t even coming close.