Wisdom of a Child

It was another gray morning in the Pacific Northwest, but it was a good shade of gray. It was springtime gray, and the 1968 Tacoma Junior Daffodil Parade was about to begin. A group of volunteer moms were busy preparing refreshments for the long line of leg weary little marchers that would soon be approaching the end of the parade route. I’d walked the route twice in the past two years; first as The Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, and last year as Robin Hood from Sherwood Forest. I don’t know which made the walking more uncomfortable: silver spray-painted cardboard tube legs, or little girls green tights. Either way it didn’t matter because now that I was nine years old I was retired from the parade, and this year I would be passing out potato chips to the mostly younger kids.

The Greyhound Station parking lot that would host the after parade party was bustling with activity. A portable soda fountain donated by the local Coca Cola bottler was being set up. Four Tacoma Firemen dressed to do battle with anything flammable were at the scene with their big red fire truck, industriously transforming a stack of sawhorses and sheets of plywood into four large tables that would soon hold enough drinks and goodies for several float-loads of kids. Hundreds of mini bags of Nalley’s Potato Chips from nearby Nalley Valley were being unboxed. Bags of candy, cups, napkins, and balloons on sticks were being hauled from nearby cars. Then, little by little the sky began to do what the sky so often does around here.

It turned dark, and it began to rain. Then it began to pour. Anything that couldn’t be shielded by umbrellas was put inside the Coca Cola booth, or thrown under the plywood tables. People ducked under awnings, or back into their cars. I sat under one of the plywood tables, and watched as the undaunted firemen surveyed the scene and discussed how much tarp and rope they would need to set up a makeshift cover for the refreshment area. As they continued pointing and calculating the downpour turned back into rain which slowed to a drizzle before becoming a sprinkle, and then it stopped.

The darkened sky returned to springtime gray which eventually gave way to blue and the umbrellas began to fold. Soda pop began to fill the paper cups. Boxes were pulled from under the tables, and then everything came to a halt. The tables that were supposed to hold all the drinks, and treats, were covered with puddles of water. The moms all looked to the firemen for help. The four quickly began wiping off the tables with their hands. They splashed at the puddles, and used up all the napkins they could find in a futile effort to dry the tables. Two of the firemen left to go get a squeegee and some towels from their truck.

With the front of the parade fast approaching, and my potato chips still not at their place on the table, I walked up to the two remaining firemen. I looked up at the bigger one who seemed to be in charge and said “Excuse me mister, wouldn’t it be easier just to turn the wood over so the dry side is on top?” I can still hear the moms laughing, and I can still see the two red faced firemen flipping the sheets of plywood over, dry side to the sky, as the other two firemen returned with their unneeded towels and squeegee in hand. With everyone’s help the dry tabletops were soon filled with enough food and drinks to serve every last soggy little kid. I even managed to pilfer a couple extra chip bags for myself... barbecue flavored.