There is something strange and wonderful about waiting for a parade. It’s one of the only times in life when people will show up early, sit on curbs, unfold lawn chairs, and basically stare at an empty street like it’s the world’s most exciting thing. And I’m one of them. I’m just here to wait until the parade starts. But honestly, the waiting might be the best part. It’s the calm before the chaos. The quiet before the drums and horns and candy-throwing madness begin.
I always forget how peaceful it feels. Kids run around a little, sure, and someone always brings a dog that absolutely does not want to be there. But mostly, it’s still. There’s a cool kind of hush over everything, like the whole street is taking a big breath in. You can almost hear the buildings thinking, “Ah yes, the humans and their marching bands. They’re back.”
I sit and look around. People are settling in with blankets and big travel mugs. Someone is holding a balloon that keeps smacking them in the face. On the other side of the street, a family is trying to figure out how to fit eight people on one very tiny picnic blanket. It’s not working, but they’re laughing, so I guess that counts as success.
While I’m waiting, I notice things I never pay attention to. The cracks in the sidewalk. A squirrel trying to decide if it should risk running across the road. The faint smell of popcorn that seems to come out of nowhere, as if the air itself is already excited about what’s coming. There’s something nice about being forced to slow down and actually look at things. We rush all the time—hurry to work, hurry home, hurry through dinner—and sometimes it takes a parade that hasn’t started yet to remind us that life isn’t supposed to be lived at top speed.
It’s funny. We’re all here for the loud stuff: the sirens, the cheer squads, the giant balloons shaped like cartoon characters that make you wonder how many people it takes to keep one from drifting away forever. But before all that, there’s this little window of peace. A quiet moment where nothing is happening, and that’s exactly what makes it special.
Maybe that’s why I like it so much. Waiting for a parade is one of the few times when nobody is in a rush. Nobody is impatient. Everyone is okay with just being still for a minute. It doesn’t happen often, and it never lasts long. Once the drums start, the calm is gone in about two seconds.
But right now? This is the good part. This is the moment before the moment. The soft part of the day where the world feels simple and the street feels like it’s holding a secret. I’m just here to wait until the parade starts. And for now, I’m enjoying the calm.