"Why doesn't Linda just walk with Lee and Paul in the Memorial Day Parade?" Aunt Doris asked her sister Marge. Thinking it over, my mother finally nodded her head and said, "OK, I guess it would be all right if you think you could walk that far, Linda." Yes, of course I could, expecially since I would be walking right in the middle of streets where I was never allowed. My teacher had even described how the children in the parade threw flowers over the bridge's railing into the Seneca River in memory of soldiers. I wanted to do that, too.
"I'm going to walk in the Memorial Day Parade!" I boasted to Mrs. V,, my kindergarten teacher during recess. "Oh, I should think NOT," she replied, "Only first graders and older are allowed." She pursed her lips and gave me her severest look. I swallowed hard and blinked fast to hold back the tears.
Racing off the school bus, I reported to my mother what Mrs. V. had said. "Just walk with Lee and Paul, and it will be OK," she replied. (Why, I wondered, did my normally mild-mannered mother look a bit defiant?) Over the next few days, I tried to reassure myself that if Mrs. V. tried to pull me away from the marchers, my six and eight year old cousins could mutter "Tough toenails!", hold my hand tight, and run.
Memorial Day arrived. Early morning clouds disappeared, and my mother cut a bouquet of lilacs for me to carry. A huge cluster of grade school children gathered at the very end of the parade group. We were behind the veteran's groups, (both world wars), dressed in moth-balled uniforms, firemen riding their shiny trucks, politicians waving in convertibles, Scouts holding flags, a couple of bands booming and tooting, and several floats decorated with flowers. We stood and stood. Would we ever start marching? My lilacs wilted and my legs already hurt.
Finally, the whole crowd of children was given the signal to move forward. We walked down the hill, under arched treetops, through the Four Corners right under the traffic light, over the canal bridge, and then over the bridge by the dam. "Linda, throw your flowers in NOW!" shouted Lee and Paul. I flung them over the railing, and watched the current carry them swiftly out of sight under the bridge.
Soon we were walking right near my school. Surely Mrs. V. was in the crowd along the sidewalk. I tried to make myself disappear between my cousins. I imagined her angry face, framed by gray hair pulled back and piled high with hairpins, suddenly spying me. I could almost see her brooch glittering in the sun, and her black shoes clacking on the pavement. She would rush into the swarm of children and yank me from my bodyguards. I might even have to go to the police station.
Somehow, we reached the parade's end in the cemetery, where hordes of onlookers and paraders mingled and gathered for the solemn ceremonies. There was my mother and aunt! Now Mrs. V. would have to deal with my mother if she wanted to pursue me. Soon I was in the backseat of my aunt's Mercury, chugging up the long hill out of Baldwinsville, speeding down the hills to our family picnic in the backyard.
Every Memorial Day I still feel apprehensive and excited - and comforted by the scent of lilacs.
