We live in a fairly small Connecticut town.
Around 17,000 people.
And every year we have a good, old-fashioned Memorial Day parade.
The kids love to march in it.
Yesterday Number 4 marched in it for the 3rd or 7th time, depending on who you ask.
It is one of my favorite things about living here.
In a world of smart phones and ipads and texting and laptops,
I am grateful for this old school, small town tradition.
I am grateful for little American flags,
and for the opportunity to witness the excitement of my 3-year-old,
who couldn’t wait to wave the flag she made herself in preschool,
and march “like a big girl” in her first parade.
I am grateful for red, white, and blue outfits.
For people throwing candy.
For ice cream trucks,
and popsicles,
and strawberry shortcake,
and hot dogs.
I am grateful for Radio Flyer wagons.
old cars,
trucks pulling floats,
jamming bands,
and big brothers playing the trumpet.
I am grateful for Yankee Doodle Dandy,
and America the Beautiful,
and You’re a Grand Old Flag.
I am grateful for the opportunity to walk down the street, holding one daughter’s hand,
while watching the other daughter high five and shake hands with spectators,
like a politician on the campaign trail (can you spot Number 4 in that picture?).
And,
most importantly,
I am grateful for all the people who gave their lives so that my children and I are able to experience this wonderful tradition.
Thank you.
Happy Memorial Day Everyone.
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