The Joplin Globe, Joplin, MO

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July 4, 2008

Mike Pound: What the Fourth was meant to be

By Mike Pound

Globe columnist

mpound@joplinglobe.com

The bike parade doesn’t take as long as it used to.

Well, that’s not true. The parade itself probably takes as long as it always did, it’s just that the part of the parade that Emma and her friends ride in doesn’t take as long.

When my wife and Lana, who lives across the street, first came up with the idea of a neighborhood Fourth of July bike parade in 2002, Emma was 4 and Katie, Lana’s daughter, was 5. That first year the parade seemed like it lasted roughly a week. That’s because most of the kids in the parade were not — shall we say — bike savvy. Most kids in the parade that first year needed someone to walk/run with them to make sure that:

A) They didn’t fall off their bike.

2) They didn’t run into someone else.

And III) They didn’t go inside someone’s house because they “had to go.”

That first parade Emma was still using training wheels, so her progress was slow. Barack Obama could have changed his stance on Iraq four times in the time it took Emma to finish that first parade. By the time the second parade rolled around (ha), Emma was operating her bike sans training wheels. Not well, mind you, but she was doing it.

I was tabbed to tag along with Emma to make sure she managed to navigate the three or four blocks up our street and back without incident.

I wasn’t alone. All the dads, it seemed, were on kid patrol, so the parade didn’t so much flow as wobble.

After the parade the kids would put down their bikes and head over to the parkway in front of our house for punch and cookies while the parents stood around and talked about how hot it was. Some parents, who were in the know, would wander to the deck in our back yard where someone had placed a cooler full of Anheuser-Busch products. Over the years, our deck has become a popular site for many of the parents who were in the know.

One gentleman, who asked to remain anonymous, told me Thursday after the parade, that our deck was the best place to watch the parade. When I pointed out that you can’t see the parade from our deck, he just smiled.

I like to make fun of the bike parade and of my wife and Lana’s organizational zeal, but the truth is, I like it. It’s the sort of thing that neighborhoods in small towns used to do but seldom do any more.

I remember several years ago when my Aunt Ev and her daughter, Pam, were visiting. My wife was showing them pictures of the previous year’s bike parade and Ev turned to Pam and said, “See, this is what they do in small towns.”

She was right. It is what we do in small towns. It’s what folks in small towns have been doing for years.

Thursday night, after the parade was over, after all the neighbors were done talking and all the food was put away, a few couples and their kids gathered in our back yard. While the kids ran around the yard acting like, well, kids, the adults sat on the deck and talked some more. For a while three of the female people on the deck got into an animated discussion about hair conditioner. I looked over at Sam, who was sitting next to me and asked him what sort of conditioner he used on his hair. He told me he didn’t know. Chuck and Mike, who were also on the deck and sitting near me, didn’t know what kind of conditioner they used, either.

Later, the conversation turned to politics. Shannon, as always, expressed amazement that I was a liberal. I think Shannon has seen a liberal in captivity but I don’t think she has ever seen one in the wild. While we talked about politics, everyone on the deck laughed. It’s nice to talk politics with someone you don’t necessarily agree with and still be able to laugh. I think that’s the way it used to be, but sadly it isn’t now.

I think some people have forgotten how to disagree with a laugh. I think some people have forgotten what it’s like to go to an old-fashioned Fourth of July bike parade. I think some people have forgotten what it’s like to walk with a child struggling to keep her bicycle up right. I think some people have forgotten what it’s like to live in a small town.

I hope I never forget what it’s like. And I hope Emma and her friends never forget.

Maybe, just maybe, when Emma and her friends are adults, sitting on a backyard deck some warm July evening, they will occasionally disagree.

And be able to laugh about it.

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