We have a remarkable teacher at school, Lucette. She is five foot nothing, and never sleeps. I gasped when I first entered her classroom. A cornucopia of wondrous delights. Art filling every crevice, wall and space on the ceiling. It was beautiful. Each year, she asks for participants for the Fishers Ghost Parade. Last year, I went as a Scottish wench, and my daughter as a Highland dancer.
You are required to go for fittings, the classroom now teaming with clothing racks filled with the most remarkable costumes. It is great fun, and you get to know other families getting into the spirit of the cultural event. She seeks out kids with a bit of spunk, and she seeks out kids who may be normally overlooked. I love her for that. It is always blisteringly hot the day of the parade, and as we stand waiting to take our place in the merciless sun, we try our best not to pass out. As soon as we start our march through the crowds, the discomfort is forgotten.
We look out at the crowds, whom have been waiting for hours, seated on folding chairs and are touched. I heard that quite a few in the crowd cant afford the rides of the carnival to follow, and have built traditions within their families of taking them to the parade. That moves me. The theme this year was the melding of cultures. Ours was Japan and Scotland. My little girl was the Queen of the Thistles.
She was so eager to be a part of it again this year, and I love that this event gets everyone so enthused. My friend Karen, looked a vision in her kimono, and as she passed an elderly Japanese lady, she bowed very low as a sign of respect. She was approached later and told how much that had meant. Lucette is throwing a Christmas party for the participants soon, and we look forward to being reunited with everyone. She is a weaver of people, art and pageantry, bringing it all together. What a gift to have!