The Parade Crasher in Green

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day – a day where the beer flows green, which is naturally followed up with copious amounts of green puke. Ah, tradition!

Being from Irish descendants (amongst others), I’ve always appreciated the sentiment of St. Patty’s Day, even though I don’t plan on consuming massive amounts of green-tinted brew today. (Maybe a green lime margarita, but that’s about it.) I also won’t have corned beef and cabbage or Irish stew for lunch, but that’s only because of poor timing and the fact that I’m the only in my house who actually likes corned beef. Maybe I’ll just have to go eat some clover instead.

My employer is having a Saint Patrick’s Day costume contest this afternoon at 3:00 – why? I’m not sure. Maybe they think this is their idea of “fun” – watching your co-workers walk around in little green bowler hats or wearing fairy shoes where the toes curl up on the end. Me? I’m wearing my regular old sweatshirt and a Donald Duck t-shirt today – maybe I’ll go put on some dark orange sunglasses and tell everyone I’m Bono.

So as you’ll notice, I’m really not all that excited about celebrating Saint Patrick’s magical-go-lucky day. But there was one year that I literally got into it…

I crashed Seattle’s annual Saint Patrick’s Day parade.

It was March 17, 1982 – I was 16. At the time I was going to high school half a day, then I’d catch the bus and go through downtown Seattle to the Capital Hill neighborhood to attend college classes. It was a good deal – half day of boring old high school, followed by a half day of college. I got credits for both schools, and was by far one of the youngest college students at SCCC.

But my usual 1.25 hour bus ride from Rainier Beach to Capital Hill was going to take longer than normal that day – because 5th Avenue between James Street and Pine Street was shut down for the parade. And because my bus was an electric trolley, and needed to cross 5th Ave to get up the hill to college, there was nothing they could do but pull over and wait for the parade to end.

So what was a stuck kid in a green t-shirt to do? The bus was forced to pull over on 3rd and James, so I got off and decided to walk up the street two blocks to 5th Ave and watch the parade.

Ah, but that’s where the parade was starting from, and all around me were floats, high school bands, local Irish groups, and a lot of people getting in line, ready to march down 5th Ave.

I stood around for a minute, watching the chaos that comes from several thousand people trying to line up (many of whom had already started their AM with Irish coffee, apparently), then they were soon on their way. Let the parade begin!

But soon there was a huge gap in the parade route – two groups of semi-drunk guys were arguing over who was supposed to go next. And there I was, one of the few spectators at this point in the parade route, bored by their fighting and late for school.

So I stepped off the curb and joined in the parade.

The walk down 5th Avenue from James St. to Pine St. was about a mile all together, and for the first few blocks there really weren’t that many spectators. I just walked right down the middle of the street, marveling at the fact that the Seattle Police Department was holding up traffic at every intersection in my honor. Besides, I'd never been in a parade before - well, at least one I wasn't technically invited to be in.

But by the time I (and the rest of the parade) hit University Street – about 4 blocks from the end of the parade route – I noticed something: The crowd has suddenly increased. A lot. The sidewalks were 2 – 3 people deep, all looking at me, many waving at me and clapping.

Well. That was pretty cool.

So there were only two things I could do at this point. I could’ve sheepishly admitted that I was a party crasher and I really didn’t belong behind the motorcycle group that was spinning circles on their bikes down 5th Ave…

…or I could have just gone with it and waved back.

Guess which option I chose?

Anyway, by the time the parade and I hit Pine Street, there was literally thousands of people standing around watching me march down the street. I’m sure many of them wondered just who the hell I was, but I was too busy waving to the crowd to care. At this point the cops and everyone around me in the parade must’ve just assumed I belonged there, so who was I to spoil the illusion?

We finally hit the end of the parade route, where I shook hands with the two groups of drunk guys behind me (they’d finally made nice and caught up with the rest of the parade), then walked up a block and caught the bus again to college.

Once in class, several of my classmates admitted to watching me in the parade, and they all asked how I got involved with the festivities. I just smiled and blamed it on the luck of the Irish.

So happy St. Pat’s Day, to everyone. Be sure to go out and have some (safe) fun today, don’t drunk-kiss too many strangers, and if presented with the opportunity, as spontaneous as it may be, be sure to dance in the middle of the street (provided the cops have stopped traffic for you, that is).

Because sometimes in life you just need to jump into the fray and see where the party takes you.