ON THE GO

Sometimes, it feels like there are literal years of time I have forgotten from my role as a young mom raising four sons.

One of the boys will mention something, and my initial reaction is raised eyebrows and a puzzled look. The what, now?

I have absolutely chosen to block out the last three days of our drive home from a rare vacation to the East Coast, for example, thanks to a raging stomach bug that decimated the entire family. I can barely stomach (no pun intended) listening to the boys’ memories of that leg of our trip.

But amid all the busy schedules and shoestring budgeting, we always made the trip to Blooming Prairie for the Old Fashioned Fourth of July parade.

It felt special: Each boy got his own can of pop – a rarity; there was a little picnic on the curb before the excitement began; there were horses.

We inevitably happened across some generous family who allowed us to sit in their yard with our four little blonde boys, all brown as nuts from spending their days playing outside. Each one had his own plastic grocery bag to collect more candy than they could dream of.

Then, though we always promised ourselves that this was the year we’d stay for the fireworks, we’d head home by 7:30 p.m., little heads nodding in the back seats.

That was the Fate Fourth of July routine, for about a decade. But kids get older, make plans with friends, and parents resign themselves to a change of pace.

A new tradition evolved, though: We’d order Chinese takeout and watch the fireworks in Owatonna, where we lived. That, too, faded away, after the youngest graduated from high school. The last few years anyone went, I know, were just to humor me.

Another decade passed, and somewhat unexpectedly, I found myself in Blooming Prairie again for the Fourth of July.

This time, I had no husband or kids along. I was working, taking photos of the celebrations and hunting for a story with a twist.

Maybe it was my job responsibilities; maybe it was my lack of family responsibilities. Either way, it was … different.

Longtime volunteers were taking a well-deserved step away; new ideas and people were slower to step in.

This spring, there were urgent pleas for volunteers. There was talk of needing to downsize some events. Closing the beer garden?? No way.

I wrote a couple of stories about the need for help, and as I talked to my new-and-improved husband about my fond memories of the parade, I thought of Lily Tomlin, of all people.

It was Tomlin who said, “I always wondered why somebody didn’t do something about that. Then I realized I was somebody.”

So, I signed up to volunteer, specifically as a road blocker – for any number of reasons.

I’m not a drinker, so neither the beer garden nor the street dance appealed to me. I’m not a runner (ha!), so the 5K was out. I could not help during the parade, because I had to cover it for my job.

That left the role of road blocker. I’m not afraid to tell people where they cannot be, but in a friendly-ish way. When I learned I’d be using a walkie-talkie and driving a golf cart, I could hardly believe my luck.

Thanks to Miner’s Outdoor & Rec, I was able to drive to every intersection and use crime scene tape – another dream! – to block the intersections along the parade route. As directed, I removed the cart key at every stop, because I didn’t want to have to use the crime scene tape to indicate where the golf cart used to be.

And despite not having a single piece of paper in the cart, people still approached me for information – as if a sunburned reporter drenched in sweat had any answers at all. But the walkie-talkie! It got me all the answers.

I don’t live in this town, or even in this county, but that hot, windy day felt … good.

I hope you thought so, too, and if not? Maybe next year, the Fourth of July needs you.