This past weekend, I set out to walk to the grocery store, a normal weekend routine. As I got closer to my destination, I saw roads were blocked off, and then heard the distinct sound of a parade.
Of course, it was a St. Patrick’s Day parade! I had even rearranged an appointment to avoid running into the parade. And here I was, stopped dead in my tracks, having completely forgotten what time the parade started.
At first, I was a bit annoyed, because I had to be at work in a few hours. But then I couldn’t help but think of Dad, and how much he would have enjoyed the parade, even though he didn’t like the commercialization of the holiday. He would have loved seeing the police and firemen and the traditional Irish dancing groups.
And of course, the music.
So I allowed myself to just take in the scene, all of the sights and sounds.
As I’ve written before, Dad helped with the 1959 St. Patrick’s Day parade in New Orleans. I still need to do some digging research-wise to find photos from that year’s parade, but here is the scene from the 2008 affair in the Big Easy.