The older I get, the more these pithy little sayings prove to have validity. As a youngster, I often scoffed at the adults, who seemed to have a never-ending arsenal of finger-wagging pearls of wisdom. Normally, I’m curious enough to research the origins, but this one yielded pages of song lyrics from Justin Bieber’s playlist, which stopped me dead in my tracks. Clearly, he borrowed the expression from somewhere (does he have original thought?) so I skipped that step and just glanced at the pretty pictures, Bieber-style.

A few popped out at me, like “winners never quit,” “never look back,” and a personal favorite: “never argue with stupid people”—which may explain why so few people pick fights with me, because, as many of you know, I’m no Einstein, as my mother was fond of reminding me. At this time last year, the weather was far less cooperative than what we are currently experiencing, and following the bitter cold (14 below) James Dworetsky Holiday Parade of 2014 in Jeffersonville, NY, I publicly announced that I would never, ever do it again.

“My fingers froze” I whined to my co-workers, “and my camera battery died. No number of decorated fire trucks is worth it.” Wagging my finger at everyone I could find, the pronouncement was made. “Mark my words,” I sneered. “I will never do it again. Even the Wonder Dog was freezing. Write it down, people. Never.”

Don’t get me wrong. As many of you know, there are few things I love more than a good old-fashioned small-town-life parade. We have one here in the Upper Delaware River region approximately every other week, and honestly, they never (IMHO) get old. Any excuse to rev up the trucks, tractors and vintage cars floating down Main Street, USA is good enough for me, and I never stop marveling at the creativity that ensues when folks in the Catskills are given a challenge. My first Trout Parade (www.catskillartsociety.org) was awe-inspiring, and I always look forward to the tractor parade in Callicoon, NY and an opportunity to photograph the stilt-walkers (www.nacl.org) who manage to pop up at scores of parades throughout the year on both sides of the river.

“Never look back,” I thought, as this year’s Holiday Parade loomed. “Stick to your guns. After all, you did say never.”

Images of my mother’s red-lacquered fingernail waving in my face loomed when I glanced at the thermometer last Friday, which touted a balmy 40 degrees, and I reconsidered. “It is a tradition,” I sighed, “and I do love a parade.” Giving in, I silently acknowledged that (argh!) mother was right, packed up my troubles in my old kit bag (whatever that is) and headed out the door, knowing that Dharma would be comfy in her bag too. Traditionally, I tend to show up a little early, in order to admire the decorations, schmooze with friends (all of whom recalled last year’s ridiculous weather) and give the kids an opportunity to say “hi” to the dog, gleefully waving their “pawtographs” around before the sirens blare and their shining faces light up in anticipation of the fat man’s arrival, heralding the month-long celebrations about to commence. “Where is everyone?” I muttered to the pup. “It’s gorgeous out. I should have worn shorts and flip-flops, for cryin’ out loud.”

It never ceases to amaze me, but it happens every time at every parade on any given occasion. Moments before the first float/tractor/pumpkin/fish rounds the corner, hundreds appear as if out of nowhere, cheering and clapping, and little hands reach out, anticipating the candy being thrust into their tiny hands by the scores of volunteers who work tirelessly to entertain us. This year, Santa led the parade, rather than closing it, making room for a myriad of others, including pirate Santas, female Santas, fireman Santas, Smoky (the) Bear, a Cat in the Hat, and for some odd reason, even a Smurf or two. Snapping away, I marveled at the hard work, twinkling lights and time, money and energy that goes into these cavalcades, thanking the firefighters along the way, and bowing my head, in memory of the fallen hero whose bravery sparked the James Dworestky Holiday Parade more than 20 years ago. “Remember,” I advised the kids, “that while this parade is out-of-control fun for all of us, every day of the year, these amazing men and women are willing to give up their lives in order to keep us safe.” Wagging my finger in their adorable faces, I paused. “Don’t play with matches, listen to your parents, do your homework, never say never, and remember,” I advised, as they rolled their adorable eyes, “It takes a village. Never forget.”

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