Maureen Connors Badding arrived in Wauwatosa 22 years ago via Buffalo and Phoenix. She's a freelance writer and habitual volunteer who enjoys book clubs, travel, entertaining and cheering for her daughter's swim team.
Like everyone from Buffalo, I was saddened by Tim Russert's death. Most of us ex-Buffalonians are staunch defenders of the city's reputation, but he was one of the most vocal and certainly one of the most famous.
I actually received condolences when he died, but I never met Tim Russert. By the time I was attending dances at Canisius High School, Tim was long gone. And even my five brothers, who were closer to his age, never knew him. While he was on a bus heading to his all-boys Catholic school in North Buffalo, my brothers were on a bus heading toward South Buffalo to go to theirs.
But I still watched Tim's memorial show on MSNBC and listened to all the eulogies. I was astounded when I heard a couple of people mention the many parades in Buffalo. The curious thing is, other than a huge St. Patrick's Day Parade, I don't remember many parades in Buffalo.
It really got me wondering. I even Googled “Buffalo + Parades” to see if my memory was faulty. It was. There are, in fact, lots of parades in Buffalo. I'm just now realizing that my family members weren't “Parade People.”
You see, since I've lived in Tosa, I've forgotten that I'm not really Parade People either. For many years, I was gladly recruited as a chaperone for my daughter's various groups and teams when they marched in Tosa's Fourth of July Parade. For the past few years, I've gone to see all our friends and neighbors marching with their respective groups. I couldn't imagine not going to the parade this year.
I've realized that Tosa is a Parade Town, and you can't help becoming Parade People when you live here. In particular, our Fourth of July Parade has a subtle and mysterious allure that cannot be ignored. Resistance is futile. It could be 96 degrees and blindingly sunny or 60 degrees and raining, but attendance is mandatory.
So, in spite of the crowds and the awkward gaps; the clowns and the Shriners on their loud Harleys notwithstanding, I will go to Tosa's Fourth of July Parade. And at some point, I'll probably even have a tear in my eye. It might be the Vietnam Vets and their Hmong contemporaries. It could be the littlest Dailey Deb struggling to keep up with the rest of the group. It could be the East Marching Band and all the kids I know who will be going their separate ways next year.
Something will get to me. And I wouldn't miss it for the world.