The Grandparents Parade

It was quite a scene at the Dollar General store in Margaret, Alabama. People rushed out the doors carrying poster board, silver balloons, and rolls of crepe paper. The party supply aisle looked as if a mob of looters had swept through. Outside, throngs of white-haired grandparents frantically taped their hastily made decorations onto cars, trucks, and even motorcycles.

Some might call it excessive, even a little crazy. We call it something else: the Grandparents Day Parade at my granddaughter’s elementary school.

Fortunately, we were spared the Dollar General chaos. The night before, I bought a hot-pink sheet of poster board and cut out a crude heart using my wife’s good scissors, of course. After writing my granddaughter’s name in large letters, we secured it to the car window with strapping tape, then took our place in line with the other parade participants. And waited. And waited. And waited.

There must have been hundreds of decorated vehicles, ranging from modest to downright gaudy. We were definitely on the understated side, but some people went all out. One pickup truck had a statue of a horse mounted on its hood. Another car was so covered in streamers it looked like a plate of spaghetti. Balloons bobbed from dozens of vehicles. The whole spectacle resembled a geriatric Mardi Gras parade.

Amazingly, the entire procession sat motionless on the two-lane road in front of the school for at least 30 minutes. Normally, you’d expect frustration, or even road rage, when cars sit as still as a photograph. I can recall my father once getting out of his car to throw rocks at a train because he felt it had delayed him longer than necessary. But this crowd was different. It was a convoy of grandparents, each one willing to wait as long as it took for their grands. For once, love won out over impatience.

Finally, the line began to inch forward, turning onto the road that led to the school’s entrance. Both sides were lined with children, from kindergarteners to fourth-graders, waving frantically as they searched for familiar faces.

We searched, too.

“Where’s Addy?” my wife asked. “I don’t see her yet.”

I wasn’t worried. “Since she’s a first-grader, she’s probably closer to the school - near the end of the line.”

Still, as we crept along, I started to wonder if we had somehow missed her. Relief settled in when I noticed the rows of students getting younger.  And at last, there she was - near the very end of the parade route. She stood in her pink-rimmed glasses and bright yellow dress, waving with all her might, waiting for her five seconds of glory.  We waved back yelling, “We love you, Addy!”

“I love you too!”

And then it was over. 

I pulled out of the school,  made our way to the main road and eventually stopped in the Dollar General parking lot  to pull off our decorations. The place was still buzzing with latecomers, hoping against hope to find a stray package of balloons, or a roll of crepe paper.  

“All of that fuss for five seconds,” my wife said.   I answered,”It was much more than that. She was out there knowing we would show up - knowing she would be recognized, and that made it all worth it.  You never know, but that may be a memory she carries with her for the rest of her life. Tonite when I say my prayers, I’ll thank the Lord that we were here to do that.”  

And, then I added, “I’m also gonna thank Him that I wasn’t that Dollar General store manager this morning.”