Presidents' Day (or President's Day)

Susan loved Presidents’ Day (or President’s Day…she wasn’t really sure which one was correct.) She loved all of the hoopla…all of the pomp and circumstance. She loved the long moments of silence and reflection given to each and every President. She loved that thundering booms of the fireworks that would slash colorfully across the nighttime sky that evening. She loved gathering together with all of her loved ones for the Presidents’ Day (or President’s Day) feast of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and cherry pie.

But most of all, Susan loved the parade. She always got up early to stake out a place right up front on the avenue for the gala Presidents’ Day (or President’s Day) Parade…Susan knew that everyone loved a parade but nobody, she thought just a bit proudly, could possibly love a parade…especially the unimaginably dazzling Presidents’ Day (or President’s Day) Parade.

The crowd had swollen to thousands of excited Americans waiting to hoop and holler as they celebrate the wit and wisdom of their elected leaders. At 8 AM sharp…the parade was ever a model of American efficiency…the Parade started with relatively-reasonable facsimiles of Uncle Sam, Lady Liberty, Benjamin Franklin, a Native American woman (Pocahontas?), and some black guy in overalls (John Henry?) leading the way.

The reasonable facsimiles were shaking hands with men, giving red, white, and blue candy to the kids, and kissing the women. Uncle Sam, who was coming down Susan’s side of the street, was going above and beyond the call of duty by drawing every pretty girl he could get his hands on into lingering embraces. Susan thought to take step back but the wildly cheering crowd behind her kept her front and center.

Sure enough, Uncle Sam seized her and hugged her tightly. Uncle Sam smelled of Scotch and cigarettes and Susan was sure that he was looking at her bosom when he slurred “God bless America”. Susan chose to believe that he his hands cupping her buttocks was an accidental thing. She also chose to believe that he had a firecracker in his front pocket.

The Native American woman (Sacagawea?) pulled Uncle Sam away and Susan took a deep breath and turned her attention to the Washington drill team…20 tall white men wearing white wigs and Revolutionary uniforms performing precision movements with their gleaming, razor-sharp axes…and the wonder of the day flooded back into her.

The grand parade went by her in a grand, celebratory, patriotic blur. Susan was still wondering how long it had taken to blow up the William Howard Taft balloon when, suddenly, the parade was over.

Susan sighed happily as the throng…many of whom had spontaneously starting humming “Hail to the Chief”…drifted away to go enjoy their private Presidents’ Day (or President’s Day) celebrations at their homes.

Susan hugged herself and smiled. “God bless America indeed,” she said as she headed home towards the feast her mother was cooking. She hoped the Presidents’ Day (or President’s Day) meat loaf wasn’t dry this year.