I’m not sure what bothered me more…the lameness of the parade or the creepiness of the grown men begging for crap.
We went to a Saint Patrick’s Day Parade yesterday. We’d not taken our daughter to a parade and thought she might enjoy it. She did so our mission was accomplished it but it was still odd.
The parade itself was, well, different from any other parade my husband and I had ever been to. The parades we’ve gone to before included: marching bands from local high schools, decorative floats from extracurricular clubs, floats from various business and clubs from the city, antique cars, the shriners, clowns, etc. This parade had large trucks, semi tractors and tow trucks, pulling trailers which had been painted marginally in St. Patrick’s Day colors but bore a uncanny resemblance to what I would assume Mardi Gras parade trailers looked like. Green, yellow (or gold), purple. Cheap beads. Beer. Load music.
We had fun but would not probably go again. The music was WAY too loud. It hurt my ears. The crowd is standing not five feet from the “floats” and yet the music is blaring loud enough to hurt the ears of someone twenty feet back. (My hubby stayed back in the shade.) We stood next to two men. Both were older and very…well, they were really fat. Both had that look. I saw it often when working at the Pierce Street Fareway and often when working at OU (which I had a nightmare about last night, oddly enough.). It’s a look of voluntary mental retardation.
There are those who are born with a small cup. There are those born with average cups and those born with large cups. The size of your cup is predetermined. You can’t change the size of your cup. What you can choose is how full your cup is. A mentally retarded person who has a smile on their face and has worked to better themselves in every way they can, has a full cup. They have my respect. An average Joe or even a genius who, through laziness of the mind and body, has a small swish in the bottom of his cup and nothing else, has nothing from me but disgust.
These men were in the latter category. They were fat not from the love of food but the hatred of doing. They stood there begging for a handout because they’d given up self respect and dignity long ago. They gathered their useless baubles and cheap cups, baseball caps, plastic footballs, toy pipes, and the like with a greedy urgency. They lugged their tote bag of “treasures” away with them as though they’d actually received something of value.
Sorry to have ranted on two strangers. My daughter lugged her crap home with the same emotion. She feels she got real treasure and to a four year old, a couple of pounds of shiny Mardi Gras beads are treasure. I simply hope that by the time she’s an adult, she has more permanent treasures to seek.
Oh, and I got sunburned. Jael is fine. Israel is fine. I toasted. Which I do every summer when I pull out the tank tops. You’d think I’d learn. I guess my cup’s not overflowing yet, is it?