This is an article I wrote for my grad school's student paper last year that I thought you might enjoy...
For over 100 years, Pasadena has been home to the annual Tournament of Roses Parade. I first encountered this grand tradition when I was around 11 years old. My family set up camp along the route with lawn chairs and blankets, braving the chill in the air for the next day's excitement. Ever the entrepreneur, my grandpa had purchased blankets in Mexico to make a quick buck while enjoying the festivities. It was thrilling to sleep outside surrounded by swarms of strangers ringing in the new year. We awoke to bands warming up and police cars clearing the streets. Seventeen years later, I can still picture specific floats from that day. And although my mom tells me a couple got married on a float that year, the one that I remember featured Frankenstein and his monster friends rocking out to the "Monster Mash." Yeah, it was that good.
Seeing the Rose Parade in person practically ruined every other parade I've seen since. From that day on I became what is known in the world of organized processions as a "parade heckler." My hometown Edmond, Oklahoma, has an annual 4th of July parade featuring men doing synchronized routines with lawn mowers, high school bands and cheerleaders showing school spirit, and kids riding bikes decked out in red, white, and blue. "You call that a float?" I'd cry out, throwing handfuls of flowers that didn't quite have the impact I'd intended. Chicago's St. Paddy's Day parade seemed depressing with its endless array of no-frills floats promoting pubs and politicians. My barrage of anti-parade sentiment reached its height when I chained myself to the mayor's caddy, demanding a law enforcing the use of organic materials on floats. Some might say my parade activism went too far, but I don't think that you should limit yourself when you feel passionately about a cause.
Last New Year's Eve, I found myself camping out for the Rose Parade once again on the streets of Pasadena. Friends of my roommate had staked out a prime location 12 hours earlier and didn't seem to mind my late arrival. Strangely enough, sleeping outside on a portable chair had lost some of the appeal it once held for me. Don't get me wrong. The night was not without its fun. Women dressed up as "Ugly Betty" passed out masks, so we could all take turns looking like the less-than-stylin' television character, which provided some excellent photo ops. But somewhere around 3 a.m., after trying unsuccessfully to fight the bitter cold with gallons of hot chocolate and layers upon layers of clothing, I questioned the wisdom of the overnight stay. We were seated next to what must have been the official fan club for one of the marching bands. What a delight when they decided to share their own "music" with us with the awe-inspiring sounds of cowbells, noisemakers, and whistles. At 6 a.m., one of the men attempted to lead us all in the wave. Surprisingly, there weren't too many takers on that.
Although the night seemed interminably long, the parade was definitely worth it. That year's parade featured several floats honoring my home state of Oklahoma, which was celebrating its centennial. Go Sooners! They even had a man strap a rocket to his back and fly around! George Lucas was the Grand Marshal and brought along a whole slew of thunderous Storm Troopers, causing my friend Brett to yell "Hit the deck!" And each float was covered with hundreds of the most beautiful and vibrantly colored flowers you can imagine. We all took turns calling our families and yelling "I'm at the Rose Parade!" over the chaos in the background. On that day, I saw floats the way God meant for them to be. Maybe the Garden of Eden was just a series of Rose Parade floats, minus the crowds of people.
