Sometimes a parade is not just a parade

One of the great things about living in a small town is that you get to know enough people that you are sure to see someone you know most of the time you go out.  It is for this reason that my wife insists on being fully presentable whenever she leaves the house, even just to get drive-through coffee. And I don't think I can go to the grocery store without seeing at least one person I know, not counting the cashiers or the nice lady in the bakery who has the border collie. We got to know many of them through our businesses, both of which are right in town, but there are many who we met via our kids: school parents, scout parents, orchestra parents, soccer, baseball and softball parents. How many hours did we stand together on the sidelines on a dreary October morning watching our pride-and-joys chase a soccer ball up and down a muddy field? 

High school created some separation as kids veered into diversified interests, and as the need for parental chaperoning and chauffeuring diminished. As a result, there are a lot of people I haven't seen in a long time. And the funny thing is I haven't noticed. Those relationships fall away so quietly that we never know they're gone. 

And so it was at the 4^th of July parade that my wife and I set up our chairs in the grass and engaged in our people watching for the year. Not only did we see the folks we see a lot, but also many whom we haven't seen in ages. And with that, years and years of scout meetings, play dates, rehearsals, spaghetti dinners, practices, popcorn sales, and ball games came flooding back, accompanied by the pang of having children who are all grown up and gone. But there was something else, something bigger, or maybe something smaller. 

It's easy to think of Aurora as a big town. We're so close to Cleveland and Akron. We're near major league sports. We have easy access to malls and big box stores, and most of us work someplace we have to drive twenty minutes to get to. It's easy to think that we're not connected to each other. But on Independence Day when we were all waiting for the parade on our flag-lined main street, it was like a town meeting without the agenda. I could walk up and down the street and see someone I knew every fifty feet. If I ever wanted to live in Mayberry this might be as close as I will ever come. Howard and Floyd were there. And Barney and Goober and Helen. Andy drove the lead car. Aunt Bee sat under a shady tree while a thousand Opies fidgeted, waiting to chase after bubble gum tossed from parade floats. My kids had played with their kids, studied with their kids, got in fights with their kids and made up with their kids. My kids had them for math and history, swam in their pools, and had teeth filled and eyes checked by them. For 364 days a year we are spread out over 24 square miles, going about our business, but today we are together, reminding each other that much of what we love about Aurora is right here in the sunshine, hanging out together on a summer day.