ride on a float in a parade

I rode on a float with my drum and bugle corps this weekend for a Santa Claus parade. It was snowing heavily and I was FREEZING. My fingers and toes were absolutely soaked and cold, even though I was wearing two pairs of gloves and two pairs of socks. One of the parade people yelled at us because apparently we weren’t playing enough… well, you try playing drums and horns in the freezing cold on a moving float and see how you do. Not my most fun moment. At least when you march, you’re moving around so you’re not so freaking cold.

just because i wasn’t on a float doesn’t mean it wasn’t COOL.

I was an angel on a float…it kind of sucked because the weather was cold, but seeing little kids waving and trying to get my attention was a lot of fun.
“Mommy, mommy! Look at the angel!!”
So exciting!

Dressed as a bride no less, trudging through Dupont Circle handing out stickers. No float, but all things considered, I think it’s progress!

You sit there, and you sit there. And it’s noisy. You wave. You smile. You sit some more. Yeah, people look at you. You smile. You wave. For hours and hours and hours. You get to wait for hours in the pre-parade line up line too. And sit. And wait. Your arm gets tired from waving. Then you think – “I gave up my weekend for this??”

don’t tell anyone, but I was linedancing – surprisingly enough, quite difficult on a moving floor

a marabou trimmed bed-jacket… in a four poster bed in the float… eating grapes, my head tipped back on the pillow… it’s a long story but it WAS a blast. Our float won first prize, too!

Gosh… when I write my “I’ve done this” s here I realize I really have lived a fairly out-there life. As my friend CJ says, “I’ve found my center, and it’s over the edge.”

My Brownie troup rode in the city Christmas parade, and half way through the float BROKE DOWN!! We had to hitch a ride with the Childrens hospital float to get back to the start!

The first time I was in a parade was when I was 18 or 19. It was my first summer away from my small hometown, and I agreed to help my friend Chris finish up a float for the bar he worked at, to be in an upcoming parade.
(Back home you see, I was crowned my podunk town’s Lady Spirit, and float-building was one of my gifts.)

Rainbow colors, streamers, and lights went on the Club Paradise float.
“What’s this parade for?” I asked.
“Pride. And tolerance.”
“Sweet! Count me in.”
What small-town girl couldn’t get behind having pride, and tolerating differences? I had no idea this city was so progressive…
“Great—you can ride with us on the float.”

Oh naive, silly, small-town 511Amber.
I had no clue it was a gay pride parade.
We didn’t have those in the boondocks.

It was immediately clear to me that my bumpkin ass wasn’t in Kansas anymore however, as the float rounded the corner and approached the staging area. It was a parking lot, alley and street, filled with wild floats, gorgeous drag queens with feathers and sequins, butchy babes and banners about gay pride. Thousands upon thousands had come out to, well… be out.
“This is a… gay… parade?”
“You know it girl!!”

My mind was blown. I couldn’t hop off, not only was Chris my dear friend, but he was also my ride. Plus, I was here for solidarity, dammit, and everyone was being so nice…
How could I not have seen it?
(Oy!—it took quite a bit of platonic hanging out to realize Chris was the Will to my Grace, not the Harry Connick Jr. I would have gone anywhere with him though, Will or Harry.)
I might not have been gay, but I was loving all the cool out people I was meeting that day. Why not stay and enjoy the ride?
I was the only female on our float, and figured that if I juuust tried to blend and not call attention to myself, I would not only have a great story, but my parents back in Hicksville need not know a thing. Everyone around was so excited and flamboyant, I was sure nobody would notice me.

Sooo wrong.

We were 10 minutes into the parade when we slowed at a corner and sure enough, there was a camera and a reporter for a local news station.
And sure enough, they wanted to talk with me, the sore-thumb girl on the all-boy float.
“So, why are you here today?” Chirped the blonde, suited reporter, leaning in and holding up the mic.
“Uh, I uh, wanted to come out and… support… my f-friends,” I stammered.
At least, I think that’s what I said. Everybody around me cheered and the float lurched ahead, leaving the camera behind. Through the rest of the parade I kept waving and cheering, pleased with myself. I was happy I didn’t punk out and say something lame, like, “no comment,” despite how invisible I wanted to be.
It was a really bizarre experience, to be in a sea of gay people, knowing I was different. As uncomfortable as they may be, moments that give you other-people’s-shoes perspective are priceless.

3 years later, I was in a homecoming parade at my University—the radio station I was a director at had a float. I handed out CDs to kids brave enough to endure the icy cold rain, Bless ‘em.
Lot less controversy, and nobody wanted a soundbite that time.

I can’t remember which parade or which float I was on though.