It was Memorial Day weekend and some close friends of my parents had been asked to create a specifically designed parade entry, one emphasizing the process of aging. These friends had a son just a bit younger than me and he was going to be riding on this parade “vessel” along with his father.
I was not at all interested in this particular project, which had become the main topic in our house. Mom and Dad seemed so excited over this venture. For just about a week, my father would get home from work, eat his dinner, and then dash over to his friend’s house.
As Memorial Day drew close, the parade entry was complete, except for one important detail: they were looking for a little girl to be a part of this endeavor. Well, it wasn’t going to be me. I was far too shy and I could not imagine being a part of this event. My objections were overlooked and the very next night I found myself in a barn looking at an antique horse carriage decorated in red, white and blue. On the back of this once very elegant carriage was a large sign written with a black magic marker on a white piece of poster paper. The sign said, “The old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be.”
My job was simple; I just had to sit up on the seat beside the man and wave a small American flag. My mother requested that I wear my fancy yellow dress for the occasion. I guess it was my mom’s elation at the prospect of showing me off that prompted me to agree to be in the parade, sitting on a nearly dilapidated carriage, surrounded by red, white and blue and waving a small flag. Oh, and of course, there was that yellow dress.
Magically, a yellow prairie bonnet appeared from nowhere and completed my ensemble. As you can well imagine, I was terrified and excited at the same time. Even then, some 50 years ago, I grew to love attention and I considered myself to be a fashionista, though I had no idea what that was. My shy demeanor slowly lost its hold on me, and I became just the opposite of timid. That, my friends, is another story.
On that Memorial Day, an antique horse carriage pulled by an antique horse proudly carried a fine gentleman, his dashing young son, and a redhaired girl who waved a tiny American flag with such vigor, that it could never be used again. I kept that nearly shredded little flag for many years, reminding myself often of a valuable lesson. Don’t be afraid to step outside your box and try something new; something that brings you or someone you love great joy.
There is a yellow prairie bonnet in my mom’s hope chest. Though the fabric has faded with time, the lesson learned is eternal.
Belinda Wilcox Hersey lives in Caribou with her husband, Kent. You may email her at belindahersy@gmail.com.
