By Michael Baughman

One of the neat things about small-town living is the ubiquity of our parades. I think the main reason we have so many is to make sure our emergency vehicles still run. We may have more parades than full-fledged emergencies around here. We recently had a “Tuesday Parade” to celebrate the fact that it was a Tuesday.

 

One thing I’ve noticed about our parades is the amount and ear-piercing loudness of our emergency vehicles. Since when did a deafening fire truck become synonymous with Christmas? Here is a quick glance into my life during the recent Tryon Christmas Parade:

 

(SCENE BEGINS)

I left work a little early to get a prime seat right in the heart of Tryon. I wanted to get there before the busses rolled in from Tryon Estates. Me, and my four-year old son, Jack, walked across the tracks to wait for the procession. All was going swimmingly to start.

 

Just as Jack is settling in, the first fire truck lets off a loud, long honk and siren, like it’s on the way to a massive emergency only it’s moving about one mile per hour. Jack went from happy-happy to a full-on melt-down in a split second. Luckily, I was able to shove a newfound piece of candy (from the street) into his mouth and he calmed right down.

 

Next, we watch a few more parade participants pass by, each throwing more pure sugar at my four-year old. He picks up another piece of candy off the street and says, “Can I have this dad?” “Sure,” I say. “I think eating more candy from the street on an empty stomach is a great idea.”

 

And then, I see it – the Hillbilly Clan that must be in EVERY local parade with their fire horns and loud speakers. They usually bring up the rear of a parade and make sure your youngster is in full meltdown mode as you run back to your car.

 

I decide to make a run for it so I can maintain some level of control. As I’m swiftly walking back towards my car, I of course, bump into someone I know, remember this is Tryon, you can’t go anywhere in a hurry. We end up in a conversation, it’s Christmas after all.

 

But, in the back of my mind I know the Hillbilly Clan is still a-creepin, so I cut the conversation short and keep moving only to bump into someone else who I haven’t seen in a while. Jack, who at this time is all raged up on sugar, wants to see the “pictures on my phone.” Thinking that will buy me a few more minutes to catch up with my friend, I acquiesce.

 

All of a sudden, I hear the Hillbillies approaching. I quickly grab the phone out of Jack’s hand and try to get him to pick up the pace with me. Oh no, what have I done? I can see his face turning blood red; steam is getting ready to come out of his ears. I did something I haven’t done in a long time: I took something out of Jack’s hands without giving him a little warning. Jack’s face turns into the color of Rudolph’s nose, and he’s holding back the tears.

 

I know I have but one choice. Say it with me parents (grandparents would not succumb to this level): “Give him the phone back, ANOTHER PIECE OF CANDY and apologize profusely.”

 

But it’s too late, they have caught up to us and there is nowhere to run. They launch that loud music from that speaker about two inches from Jack’s head and he is done for. Jack is crying, dad is fired up and now running with a screaming toddler over my shoulders to the car.  (SCENE ENDS)

 

Don’t you just love Christmas parades?

 

Ya’ll have a Merry Christmas and a meltdown-free 2016. And remember, the next time a group of hillbillies approach from behind, run far far away. I’ll see you at the next parade. I think there is one next week. . .