Memories

It's Memorial Day and it's early in the morning. There's something different about today -- oh! We jump out of bed. Are those drum beats we are hearing? Daddy's gone and that can only mean one thing: the parade is almost here. We dress quickly. Shorts and a shirt. Shoes and sneakers -- the Keds kind; Nikes haven't happened yet.

Eat something! Mommy cautions. No, no, too excited. Okay, but bring a sweater. It's chilly outside, she says. She never once in all those years missed saying the sweater thing.

We breeze out the door on Dale Avenue and head for the corner, past three houses and the vacant lot where we play, making forts and once even making a trap we hoped to lure Jackie Fennelly into, a playmate/enemy long dead now in a motorcycle accident.

At the corner, we claim our spot. We crane our necks down Greenwich Street towards Roosevelt. Nothing yet. Across the street is the Bartender's Union building, a converted house with a new facade. Our neighbor Mr. Leckie was head of the local union until some nefarious doings by unnamed union members cost him the job. This is all speculation on our part. We're kids; what do we know? It's just gossip but we love the story. It makes the building we are facing scary. We don't walk on that side of the street.

Mommy joins us. She has our dog on a leash. Skippy, first. The later, Kelly, a dolorous Bassett Hound Daddy surprised us with one day. Daddy was always bringing home strays. Even with five kids, home wasn't home until there was a dog firmly in place.

Then we hear the sound. Drums! The parade has arrived! Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, the Hempstead High School Band, the Our Lady of Loretto Knights of Columbus with their capes and swords and plumed hats. But the highlight of the parade every year was at the very end, when the Hempstead Fire Department marched and the highlight of the highlight was Truck 2, of which Daddy was a member.

There he was! Resplendent in his blue uniform, he was the handsomest fireman of them all. Daddy, we screamed! He teased us, didn't look, but then turned his head and waved. Oh heaven! What a day! What a parade! What a great beginning to what promised to be a perfect day.

Reluctantly we turned away from the parade, from the vendors with their birds on a stick whose feathers would turn in the wind, the pinwheels, pins, medals, plastic-headed dolls that bounced on rubber bands and so flimsy their heads would be crushed before the day was over, cap guns, balsa swords, and of course flags of all sizes. WE longed for these prizes, but there were five of us.

We came back home, bellies grumbling. It was now almost eleven o'clock and we were ravenous. Mommy always managed to have the bacon cooking as we entered the door, and Daddy often left the parade before its conclusion, so he'd walk in on our heels.

Happy Anniversary! we'd all yell together. Then we'd proudly present them with their gift. The strawberry shortcake we'd chipped in for and purchased secretly at the bakery in the Bohack Shopping Center.

Breakfast and dessert. I told you Memorial Day was special.

Betty