The parade comes right down our street on the 4th of July. Friends and family camp out on our front lawn for three hours to watch the spectacle. When the last of the 1,754 individuals riding horses clops past and we’ve all acquired a respectable sunburn, we move to the back yard and cook out hamburgers.
The parade took on special significance in 2000 for two reasons. Then Governor Bush was campaigning for President and chose our parade for a little patriotic photo-op, marching down Main Street shaking hands and kissing babies. As Texans, this was not particularly exciting for us, because we’d already seen Bush shaking hands and kissing babies. We were very interested in the Secret Service detail because they were wearing suits in 100 degree weather and we assumed this was to conceal their guns. This did not lend itself toward a festive, holiday spirit. They trampled across our yard and our quilts, glancing suspiciously at my son and his friends sitting on the roof for a better view of the parade, and any urge we might have felt to dash into the street to glad-hand with Bush on national television quickly evaporated.
The parade was also significant because for the first time there were float-loads of baseball players, tap dancers, ballerinas, gymnasts, employees of the local hospital, and cheerleaders all armed with Super Soaker water guns. They had what looked to be 50 gallon water drums added to their floats so they could cheerfully re-load for the entire parade route. As each group rode past, gleefully spraying astonished spectators, most of the folks camped in our yard just sat dripping in shock. Yes, it was cooler if we were soaking wet, but being hosed by people riding by on floats with no ability to shoot back did not sit well with us. This is Texas after all.
Sadly, President Bush, his secret service detail, and the national press were not with us in 2001. By the time parade day rolled around, however, we had hatched our own little war plan. The floats came gliding down the street, all the riders armed to teeth, and once again they began to spray our lawn spectators. Lying in wait by the curb, strategically placed on both ends of the yard were my children. The rules of engagement had been laid out in advance and were standard operating procedure: do not fire unless fired upon.
As soon as the first enemy shots were fired, the kids leapt to their feet, revealing two pressure sprayers attached to garden hoses. They began to completely drench the float-riding combatants. The Super-Soaker toters were woefully out-gunned. Some manfully squirted on, while others dove behind float decorations or their mothers. This caused loud clapping and hoots of encouragement not only from our lawn, but all up and down the parade route, and we all settled in for a three-hour water war.
There was only one serious physical altercation, but after a lengthy struggle, cooler heads prevailed. Thankfully, my husband was able to wrest the pressure sprayer from my hands seconds before our US Congressman’s car came within firing range.
The only people who didn’t enjoy the fun were the cheerleaders. While it had been hilarious last year for them to spray us, it was not at all amusing when we returned fire. They were coiffed and made-up to perfection, as cheerleaders usually are, but unfortunately ours is the first house on the parade route. This meant they had to ride out the rest of the parade, giving little limp, half-hearted parade waves while seething under their dripping hair and streaming make-up. Little did we know they too were hatching a war plan.
Don’t miss Part II: 2002 - The Revenge of the Cheerleaders!
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