During that same St. Patrick's day was the first time I had ever been in a parade. We had gotten a semi-truck to pull a stage for us. It had a wooden floor, a canopy, railings, and even a small area for parents, our dance teacher, and the speaker. We were decked out in all black, the only thing not black were our white poodle socks and the yellow embroidery on our team jackets. Our team jackets that hold absolutely no heat or offer any protection from the wind, or the rain. Needles to say I wore multiple layers under my team jacket.

We were told to meet an hour before the parade to decorate the float and go over steps. We wrapped the railings with a green sparkly streamer and stuck glittery shamrocks all over the truck. We were each given an itchy feather boa to wear in the colours of the Irish flag. The boa I got was green.

Nia and I were put at the front of the stage on opposite sides. Since we were both of a lower level we only knew one out of the two patterns that we would be dancing on the float so during the other pattern Nia and I were to turn to the audience and wave. If the opportunity presented itself to even encourage them to clap to the beat of the music. We were required to have one hand on the railing at all times and our hard shoes had tape on the bottom of them because the floor was slippery.

It was raining. My neck was itchy from a feather boa. My throat hurt because I was still very much sick. I was shivering, it was so cold. I couldn't tell if my nose was running from the freezing temperatures or the flu, likely a mixture of the two. I was uncomfortable because all the layers I was wearing in a failed attempt of keeping warm were restricting my movements. But I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. We had a canopy to protect us from some of the rain and if the stage got wet we had tape on our shoes to create extra friction so we wouldn't slip. If we did slip we had the railing to catch ourselves with. I could zip up my team jacket so it was in turtleneck form to put a bit of a barrier between me and the itchy feather boa. I would be a lot warmer once the blood started pumping when I started dancing.

Nothing could ruin my good mood.

Or at least that's what I thought before the parade started. At first it was fine. The truck was moving at a very slow pace, as was expected of a parade. Everyone was smiling. The audience was cheerful and loud. We were all waving and cheering to help keep things happy. But then we started dancing.

You see when you put 20, maybe more, kids on a parade float and tell the kids to jump at exactly the same time, the parade float is going to jump back. As we danced bang step treble hop back, bang step treble hop back, bang step treble, hop step treble, hop step treble hop back; the truck went down up down up down up down up. According to my father who was walking beside the float instead of on it like me and my mother the truck jumped a clear foot off the ground. As someone who felt the jumps I agree with his measurements.

I clutched the railing so tightly my knuckles turned white. I did everything to keep my face in a smile and to keep the screams of terror from escaping. I wasn't sure if I prefered when I stood still waving at the crowd while the float jumped and lurched under me or when I was dancing while the float jumped and lurched under me. The only thing keeping me from face planting as the truck jumped like a kangaroo was the green metal railing. As the truck jostled and tossed me too and fro while I tried to dance on it. The only thing keeping me there was my grip on the railing as it threw me around hard enough I feared by the end my shoulder would be dislocated.

When the parade was over and I was finally allowed to climb off of the death trap they fondly named a parade float, I finally understood why all those cartoons had the characters willingly kissing the ground. I nearly did myself, I was so relieved to be on ground that wasn't moving under me.