The Parading Drummer...

As a child, nothing made me more proud than the day I saw my Dad in a parade. The City of Roses, also known as Portland, Oregon, and my hometown, held it's Rose Festival every year and with that came a huge parade. There were Rose Princesses and one Rose Queen, high school and college marching bands, floats, different community organizations, the Firemen and Police, the list could go on and on, but it was quite an experience for a little girl.

With Carl's Jr. in hand, we sat down on the curb and watched as the parade went by. It seemed as if we waited for hours before we saw him (which we probably did), but there, in a green National Guard uniform with a drum strapped around his neck, was my Dad. I remember his face was stern and his eyes were fixed on the head in front of him as he marched. His drumsticks moved up and down, beating on the drum in complete synchronicity with the rest of his drum line. He was completely in character. "That's my dad, that's MY DAD, THAT'S MY DAD!!" played louder in my head than the music they were performing. I can't remember a moment before it or after it that made me more proud than that night did. After all, did YOUR Dad get to march in a parade? ;-)