Traditions Continue

As if we didn’t have enough sun baked into our skins already on Saturday, we decided to pile on a little more Sunday afternoon across town. Extra crispy.

But first, church.

Puck sat next to me during the service drawing a “lightsaver” in great detail on the back of his bulletin. A red lightsaber, while he whispered questions occasionally to me during the sermon for definitions of “recant” or “slaughter,” or to explain the Wailing Wall to me.

Then Ricky joined us back to the Big House for piles of donuts on the counter, which Francis had freshly carted in. He convinced Ricky to share more with him on the drive out to Florissant; accomplices in food.

Everyone was out in Florissant for the annual line-up except Joe (feeling under the weather), Jaya, and Linus. And while I’m not a parade person obviously, as I tend to express on a yearly basis during Florissant’s Valley of Flowers parade, it’s tradition. And I like tradition.

Puck made some friends pretty fast, two brothers camped out next to him on the sidewalk, catching candy and necklaces from passing floats. As kids will do, they became chums for awhile, comparing quality of goods, and basic mental abilities. I believe Puck was asked:

“Do you know how to count to one hundred and nine?”

He didn’t answer. Probably because one more cute little Girl Scout was tossing him a handful of Dubble Bubble. He didn’t care about the girl of course; just the gum.

Then a Rams truck passed by. One of the boys yelled loudly to Puck:

“I LOVE THE RAMS!”

Puck leaned over to him, saying carefully, “Don’t let my mom hear you say that.”

Well, at least he’s thinking of me. Football, baseball; sometimes they’re all the same to a seven year-old boy.

After the parade we sat around in a circle for cookies, red velvet cupcakes, etc. by Grandma’s apartment. Francis and Uncle Mo harassed each other as usual, one-upping one another on witty comebacks. They took turns: Ricky, Francis, and Irish, tossing shiny plastic necklaces up onto the power wire. Only Irish made it on the first try. Then an old high school buddy of all the aunts and uncles happened to walk by and talk for awhile, bragging on what an awesome football player Dad had been back in the day.

So with all that sun and stuff, I chilled over the 7:05 game back at the Silverspoon’s, hoping my face wouldn’t start to peel too badly while El Oso and Izzy hung out at the counter together doing tech-y things.