I love my new costume, it’s got this great cartoonish lion’s head with big bright eyes and a smile that makes me look super friendly, and when I put it on, it turns me into a living cartoon character with three fingered hands and huge feet. It took me a while to get comfortable in it, but now that I’ve mastered it I’ve got style; and when I strut, I feel like a Chick Magnet.
Chick, of course is my parade mascot partner. She dresses as a bird and looks a little like an owl, and when we work the parade, we create magic.
We have done quite a few parades this year. The first was the St-Patrick’s; that’s one big booze up… that one is. I was just learning to walk in these crazy boots, but I blended in really well, stumbling all over the place like a lot of the drunken parade goers.
We next did the Canada Day parade, and that was fun because of Trudeau’s big push on for Diversity; we were accepted and treated just like any other citizen.
Then there was the Carifesta parade a week later; I think I was definitely over dressed for that one, especially seeing all the beautiful, scantily dressed young men and women whining and grinding to the blaring Soca music drowning everything out within sight of the float. Chick and I tried to do some whining and grinding, but it wasn’t a pretty site.
We skipped the Gay Pride parade … They didn’t need plush cartoon characters to spice up that one; they had lots of fantasy on display already.
The Santa Clause Parade though, was my favourite; it’s wall to wall kids and they react to you at the most basic level. It’s easy to see the wonder and surprise in their eyes: they wave and when we get close they jump up and down in excitement and then come running over for a hug. Then when one breaks the ice, they all jump in and I am mobbed.
Little kid’s hugs feel so special. It makes me feel so good, and even though my back is killing me from all the bending over to give a good hug, it definitely is worth it. When I tell people what I do, I’m always worried they will think I’m a pervert or child molester, but I’m not, I’m just a grandfather without any grandchildren.
A story from Canada, yeh:-)