Sticky Lollipops: Doing Things We Hate
As my friends and I all settle comfortably into early middle age, I’m beginning to notice that we all have a list. This list isn’t broadcast or even really considered, but it is as set in stone as a moral code. It is the list of stuff we just don’t do. The list could contain anything from “Going to Parades” to “Trying a New Sport” or even “Introducing Ourselves to New People”. Maybe we’ve reached the point where we don’t have to impress people anymore by seeming “up for anything.” Maybe we’ve been there done that for too many things. And maybe we just live in Seattle and getting out of the cozy chair to go stand in the rain isn’t as appealing as it once was.
I know this, though. Going to Snowflake Lane is definitely on my list of stuff I don’t do. For those who don’t live in this corner of the world, Snowflake Lane is a parade put on by one of the local malls. Every night in December, they shut down a street in our local city, bring out a bunch of stilt walker, drummers, and poor college students dressed up like various holiday tropes and make them dance in the rain for 15 minutes. After that, it does that fake snow thing where your kids just eat a lot of soap bubbles and then you do your best not to lose a child in the crowd of people heading back into Macy’s.
I hate it. I. hate. it. I hate that it’s run by a mall. I hate that it’s raining. I hate that they give my kids crappy lollipops which they demand to eat right then and immediately realize are gross and then hand back to me so I have to hold three sticky lollipops for half an hour. And I really, really hate that I am terrified at the end that my kid is going to get lost in this crowd because she’s “too old to hold my hand” but too short to see in between a hundred other people.
But I love that my kids love it. I love that in between the kvetching and sticky hands and my handing out mittens to everyone whether they want them or not, they’re building a memory of a childhood where with enough will and imagination, there’s still some magic left. I love that people care enough to go through all that so that when it starts to (fake) snow, for just a moment, you can see every child stop short and look up. These are the moments that bind communities together.
Self-sacrifice sometimes looks like working to the bone to make sure our community has what it needs. Sometimes it’s cooking vats of food to make sure there’s enough. Sometimes it’s having friends over even when you’re tired. But sometimes, it’s as small as taking something off our “Nope” list for just one night.
