24 Jan NOSTALGIA
Moss Jackson, PhD
Psychologist and Success Coach
When I was a young child growing up in Brooklyn, my parents would take me and my brother and sister to the Macy’s Day Parade every Thanksgiving. It was such a treat watching the parade go by (i.e. the bands, the floats, the marching bands and soldiers) while we all sat on the curb smiling, laughing and snacking on the carrots and green peas our mom brought. Nice memories!
Tonight, I sit at the bar in St George’s Restaurant in Brigantine watching the Trump Inauguration. I snack on steamers, some clams casino and a Blue Moon beer. I indulge in the unfolding parade and watch Trump and his family also looking at the parade from their vantage point behind armored glass. I do not see many onlookers but perhaps that is because of the focused cameras beaming straight at the new President. To me, he seems somewhat cold, formal and still. There is not much to contrast with the rest of his family, all of whom look to be somewhere in a state of shock, disbelief and detachment.
Whatever, I still feel a flow of warmth throughout my body as I watch the parade. I think maybe it comes from the attractiveness and beauty of the women who surround Trump. They stand like Viking princesses basking in the glow of victory. Maybe the warmth comes from a hope of better times ahead. Or, then again, from the flags that flutter by. Then again, it could be a reaction to Trump’s salute to the passing troops. Maybe it is the barrage of farm tractors with their oversized tires and treads. Not exactly the tanks and missiles Trump requested, but impressive nevertheless. The Marine Band playing John Phillip Sousa’s rousing marching songs seems to increase my pulse rate a bit.
No, I realize that the tender feeling I experience comes from none of the above. I wonder if it comes from the tradition in our country of passing of presidential power every four years and the ability to forge a new coalition of leadership. Or it could be the soldiers marching by, or the majorettes with their acrobatic baton twirls. I also feel stirred by the Indian Code Talkers, the few remaining from WWII, and the policemen in their gleaming motorcycles. A few cowboys pass by on their palomino horses and I wonder if that is the source of my warm feelings.
I finish up my steamers and take a last sip of beer before I leave. Then I realize the source of my warm feelings. It comes from my youth, sitting on the curb with my brother and sister and watching the Macy Day’s Parade. That was a real parade with thousands of cheering onlookers, beautiful floats and smiles exchanged between everyone. It was from a nostalgic memory of a more peaceful and loving time.
It just seems like such a long time ago.