On parade

Is a parade a way we present who we are to ourselves with pride? Well, here's what was in the 85th annual Tulip Time parade through Holland, Michigan, yesterday.

The heart of the parade was school bands, lots of them, high school and middle, public and Christian, from nearby and far away, each with a different color scheme. Often there would be a color guard of girls in flowing costumes swirling colorful banner down and up and around in synchrony. These would be followed a high booted, high-stepping band leader with a super-tall shako. Then ranks of brass, trumpets, trombones, tubas with coverings on the bells that spelled out the name of the school. Then drums, snares, basses (no glockenspiels), then flutes and clarinets. These bands were huge with 50 or 60 kids, all elaborately uniformed, all stepping along in time, even when not playing  but only swinging their instruments. The youngsters all looked hot and uncomfortable but very, very serious. Adults ran up and down the formation with bottles of water for he kids to sip on as they moved down the tulip-lined, spectator-lined street.

So many kids: predominately white but also dark-skinned Mexicans, Filipinos, some few African-Americans and Asians. Tall and short, they trudged, shuffled, helmets perched high on head or low over ears, really playing or not, whispering to each other out of the sides of their mouths.

Dutch-ness. This town is called Holland for a reason. Dutch (peasant) costumes, black flower-embroidered dresses and winged lace caps on the women, baggy pants and black caps on the men along with tightly buttoned tunics and red neckerchiefs...and clogs (wooden or plastic).  Dance teams clopped down the road, state representatives (in Dutch gear) went by waving, whole bands wore clogs which made their marching sound like the something from a forties war movie: "They're on the march." Children, adults, maybe everyone has a Dutch costume in the closet for such occasions. One city counselor dropped out of line for a moment to talk to a tall older fellow near me about an incident with a runaway car earlier on, and to complain about his feet.

There were beauty queens galore, with their courts: Miss Asparagus, Junior Miss Asparagus, and so on, garish Philadelphia Mummers, a team of frock-coated Town Criers with the aplomb that white bearded, portly, Hemingway-esque men have, commercial floats with mascots with big plastic heads ("We knock out mosquitoes (and fleas) for good"), civic and philanthropic organizations, a few military color guards with older men and women. There were few American flags, and no national defiant assertiveness.

What I didn't see were lots of kids on banana bikes racing up and down, weaving in and out. Nor did I see the vendors of balloons, noise-makers, banners who appear at every Massachusetts parade. A couple of policemen in day-glow yellow vests stood around. A team of Red Cross emergency people sauntered up and down the route, constantly speaking on walkie-talkies. There were lots of people sitting or sprawling on blue tarps spread out on the grass between the sidewalk and the low palisade of bright yellow tulips verging the street. They clapped, they waved, they took pictures of their kids in the bands, but it was not a loud crowd by my standards.

One baby girl in Dutch costume kept struggling up from her blanket to escape her parents. Another, maybe 10, stood and spontaneously danced by herself with a wonderful loose-limbed rhythm.

The finale of the 2+ hour parade was a two-level float with more than a dozen steel drums and long blond-haired rapper gesticulating in front. That got the crowd to its feet.

The sun was bright and Dulu got a red nose (which she forgot to avoid). It was privilege to be guest at this 'the Holland community family on display'-kind of celebration. I love it when people show what they are most pleased in about themselves.