It is a small world after all…

I haven’t been to a parade in years...until last Sunday. A friend asked if I would join her at the annual Balboa Island Parade in Newport Beach. She explained that another of our friends, a real estate agent, was going to set up a table, hand out balloons and network for several hours before the parade began. We were to be her helpers...her minions, her hawkers. In other words, we were to work the crowd by manipulating the children. In lieu of payment, we were promised a great lunch afterward at the Newport Beach restaurant of our choice. Hmmmm? A friend in need and the lure of grazing at 3-Thirty-3 Waterfront or Bayside on a Sunday afternoon. How could I resist? I couldn’t. My only concession was that I wouldn’t drive and that I needed a mocha java from my favorite coffee house along the way.

Sunday morning dawned beautifully. My friend picked me up early and we headed down Pacific Coast Highway toward Balboa. I looked forward to spending the afternoon with these friends. I knew that we would discuss, bemoan and laugh at the irony of life in general. I also knew that we would find an adventure along the way. This was not my primary mission for the day, but I was hopeful. Sure, I was invited to work...and I know why. I’m darn good at prospecting, qualifying and selling just about anything. My real estate friend knew that I would sink my teeth into the task, do the job well, and everyone would have fun. Most importantly, no one (not parents or children) would be the wiser that they had just been hooked. Forget the line and sinker; colorful “punching” balloons (complete with logo and phone number) would suffice. The three of us created a united front amidst the crowd, with laughter and smiles all around. No one suspected that we three chicas, having so much fun, were actually working — even I forgot that I was working. Did I mention that I skipped the morning mocha because someone's very caring husband provided other refreshments? Yes, we each had a Bloody Mary, complete with celery and Clamato!

It’s important to note, regardless of the lure of hanging (and grazing) with friends, that I wouldn’t have participated had I not believed in what I was selling. I did... and I’m glad I went. It felt good to help a friend — it also felt good to see a parade. Especially this parade.

I would love to insert “I love a parade” here, as if I really do love a parade. However, I don’t actually like parades. As a child, I must have had a traumatic experience, because parades always frightened me and made me nervous. I disliked the crowds, the noise and the organized chaos. When I was in high school, I had to work on my city's float for the Rose Bowl Parade. It was mandatory community service. For several years afterward, I swore off roses — especially yellow roses. I remember when just a glimpse of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV made me shudder. Those huge balloons looming over the crowd reminded me of similar monsters hiding under my childhood bed each night. Okay, so I have issues. Over-sized, floating, cartoon-like characters freak me out. I can live with this and don’t need to seek further analysis. Well, perhaps I do, but that’s not my point.

My point is, and I do have one, is that I usually don’t like parades. I don’t like the traffic, the cars, the parking — none of it. Plus, I never mind if a parade is rained out, because I’m usually not there, nor will you find me watching it on TV. Thank goodness, no one rained on the Balboa Island Parade this year. This celebration of community was heartwarming. It was reminiscent of the past...with the added promise of a great tomorrow and overwhelming gratitude for today. For a few hours that afternoon, I was transported back into a simpler time. I believed that I was truly in the happiest place on earth — and it didn’t break the bank like that other “happy” place in Anaheim. Did I mention the little baton twirlers marching and twirling to the tune of, “It’s a small world.” Sorry Mickey, you can’t win ‘em all. Sometimes real fun can be found “outside the gates.”

I was reminded how wonderful hometown spirit can be — even in a big fish bowl like the O.C. As families enthusiastically crowded onto the island on foot, scooters, bicycles, tricycles, golf carts and skateboards, the air was electric with anticipation for what was to come. There was a rainbow of spectators — diversity abundant — sitting, standing and crouching side by side, laughing and talking as if they had everything in common. The mood was celebratory and the parade was beyond wonderful. There was the traditional patio-chair drill team strutting their stuff. There were several flatbed trucks with live bands blasting hand-clapping, foot stomping surfer music. A handful of homegrown clowns loaded into an antique fire truck and clowned around for the kids, while a hundred or so antique cars (including a modified "Bat Mobile"), sported local bigwigs and proud owners. There was an impressive brigade of Standard Poodles (with a little pink ringer) and a group of Seeing Eye dog trainers (and their trainees) marching grandly to the beat. The array of authentic World War II vehicles was impressive, especially the one driving the last living Medal of Honor recipient from D-Day. Then there was the truck loaded with some of our current boys in blue (or camouflage, to be precise). Several of these young men had been wounded in action, but they were all smiles as they waved to the crowd and received thunderous applause and cheering from us all. Everything (nailed down or not) was decorated. Red, white and blue was a common theme. Children scrambled to catch things that parade participants tossed out as they drove, walked or scooted by. No Mardi Gras beads...but plenty of candy, colorful Hawaiian leis and little American flags were firmly grasped in the sticky hands of wide-eyed, laughing children. One elderly woman approached us before the parade started and asked if she could rest for a bit on one of our chairs. She sat down, took a balloon, and then watched (and laughed) in delight for the next hour and a half. At some point, I handed her one of the little American flags. Proudly she waved it for the remainder of the afternoon. After several sporty antique cars drove by, including a cobra, a corvette and a collection of mini-coopers, an impressive Model T came into sight. Excitedly she called out “now that’s a car!” We all laughed and agreed.

It wasn’t just the enthusiasm of the locals, the participants and the crowd that lifted me up...it was the absence of commercialism and the overwhelming sense of community. Sure, the local politicos were out in force, but they just waved and smiled. There was no preaching (or speeching). Sure, we were networking (and so were others), but this was all soft-sell. And sure, most of the island’s businesses were represented in the parade, but this was small business, not big business — unless, of course, you count the huge (two-story) blowup dog that was hawking “doggie pooh bags.” I admit that when I first saw the gigantic ears looming in the distance, I stopped breathing for a moment. When my friends and I realized it was advertising for “pooh” bags, the humor of the situation took over and we all collapsed in a fit of laughter. One friend thinks this may have served as my own personal “shock therapy.” She suggested I watch the Macy's parade this year and find out if I’ve been miraculously cured of one of my many phobias. If so, then I’ll put even more stock in laughter as the best medicine.

Now I could entertain you with everything that happened after the parade, but I’ll just share one adventure, and say that we had a guardian angel (or many) by our sides. As our friend’s electric cart started to run out of juice on the way to our promised grazing spot, we barely coasted into the restaurant parking lot. Cars, trucks, buses and the hordes of people, now leaving the island, honked, waved and laughed as they went around us. These were honks and waves of genuine concern and amusement...not the kind you usually hear when tying up traffic on a busy weekend. Perhaps the big blue balloon tied on the back of our cart, or the American flag waving grandly on the side, or the two little doggies yapping away in their custom front seat basket amused the other drivers. Maybe the vision of my friends and I hysterically laughing, with hair flying like the lunatics we sometimes are, touched them with the same spirit that infected us much earlier in the day. The celebration of community — reminiscent of the past, with the added promise of a great tomorrow and overwhelming gratitude for today.

After we ordered our drinks and something to nosh on in the bar, I stepped outside to call my husband. I simply told him that it would be quite a while before I would head toward home. I said that we had just sat down to eat and that there was a little problem with the electric cart. I told him we didn’t know how we would get back to my friend’s house on the island, or to our “real” car, but I assured him that we didn’t need any help and not to worry. I knew, on this magical day, that we would get by with a little help from our friends: Our newly discovered community of friends that, until today, I didn’t know existed anymore. Like the befuddled little valet guy desperately trying to park the juice-less electric cart in front of the restaurant after we quickly abandoned ship and ran to the bar; or the many people (from all walks of life) who called out to offer their help as we were nearly stranded in a busy intersection; or the stuffy owner of that Bentley who begrudgingly gave up his cherished parking spot (right in front of the restaurant) so that three crazy women, with hair flying, two little doggies, a big blue balloon and an American flag, could sit down and figure out their next adventure — as in how on earth they would get back to the island.

A strange thing happened. We ate, drank, laughed, and told stories for a couple of hours, but we never once discussed the fact that we were stranded — that the cart was out of juice. Finally, after the tab was paid, we headed out to check on our “ride.” Lo and behold, it was sitting in a different spot — pointed toward the island and just waiting for us to climb aboard. We quickly got in and my friend turned the key. To our surprise, it started immediately and we took off with plenty of power. An anonymous Good Samaritan had it charged while we were inside recuperating from our wild ride. We were amazed, elated and thankful. As we flew out of the parking lot, I caught sight of that shiny Bentley. There it was, backed perfectly into its prime, A-1 parking spot — gleaming for all to see and admire. I started to point this out to my friends, and then stopped myself. Even though I had a good idea as to the identity of our Good Samaritan, I didn’t want to taint his motive. Besides, who am I to rain on their parade, or look a gift horse in the mouth? Certainly not Helen of Troy. I'm just Teri, who can now honestly say, “I love a parade” — at least the Balboa Island Parade. Thank goodness I decided to venture outside my gates that Sunday afternoon. Thank goodness for community. Thank goodness for diversity. Finally, thank goodness it's still a small world after all.

Dedicated to SU-Z-Q...thanks for getting me outside the gates and thanks to LG for taking me on Mrs. Toad’s Wild (Wild) Ride!

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta