Parade, 1955

Early childhood memory

I drag my new patent leather leather shoes on the sidewalk. My aunt yells at me and jerked my arm. Sonorous traffic like an angry hive of bees, charges as the light turns green. Exhaust curls around my white socks and thin ankles. My starched dress hangs over my body like a crinoline cloud. I hold onto my grandmother’s hand, and run the other hand along the white picket fence. The crowd stares at beautiful ladies in evening dresses and long white gloves, riding on the tops of convertibles, smiling and waving at us. The light turns yellow. Horses clatter by, dancing sideways, leaving steaming masses of manure. A man follows them, busily sweeping it up. Where are they all going? Why does the light keep turning from green to yellow to red like an angry eye changing moods, as the parade sweeps by? Those corpulent men all waving, fat cigars in their mouths, and gold rings and the endless clicking of traffic street lights.

Year? 4/83 This sounds like it was the St. Patrick’s Day parade in San Francisco, in which case it’s either 1954 or 1955.