It was Christmas time in Fayetteville, Tenn., or close to it. And it was time for the annual Christmas parade that winds through downtown at about the same time every year. Kind of a big deal in a small town.
As the father of a four-foot-tall Boy Scout, it was my “job” on that day to usher a dozen or so of the rowdy munchkins, all dressed up in their blue and gold uniforms, aboard a Christmas float. It would be about a two-mile ride, with me and someone’s Mom trying to keep them seated so they wouldn’t fall off, right there on Main Street.