My previous neighborhood had a Santa parade every year — the fire department put it on, I think. They’d drive a firetruck around the neighborhood with Christmas decorations all over and Christmas music blaring, and Santa sat on top of it ho-ho-hoing and throwing candy to the kids. The first time it happened, I thought I was having some sort of Lynchian hallucination, but once I figured out what was going on, I looked forward to my kids experiencing it. But then I moved.
So I was excited when I got a notice that this neighborhood would also be having a Santa parade! Today, Edith and I sat out on the front stoop waiting for Santa. Well, I was waiting for Santa; Edith was trying to eat rocks from the front flower bed without me noticing.
Eventually I heard Christmas music and we proceeded to the end of the driveway.
First came a golf cart with a couple in it and a little boy in the back holding up a small boombox playing “Here comes Santa Claus.” After them came a woman driving a convertible and next to her, a skinny guy in a baggy Santa suit sat on the back of the passenger seat, the beard dangling below his chin. “Merry Christmas,” he said to Edith in his regular voice. He had his sunglasses on.
“Well,” I said. “So, that was…Santa.”
Then we went inside and took a nap.
Accismus 