It brought up floppy diskettes full of memories related to my youthful days spent as a Rose Parade Rat both at the parade, as a volunteer working on the floats, sleeping out on the street the night before with a bunch of buds, or tripping over hundreds of lookeeloos at Victory Park in the days following the rolling floral displays New Year's Day jaunt down Colorado Blvd.
My wife reminded me of a particular memory from our trip up to the bleachers on the Orange Grove / Colorado Blvd. corner (that first big right hand turn that has put the kaibash on so many floats in the past) for the 2003 parade.
Security had been heightened since 9/11 a few years back, so purses, bags, bundles, and backpacks were all thoroughly screened before we were allowed to ascend the metal steps to our hemorrhoid inducing cold metal seats on the bleachers.
I got through fine, as did C, our then 3-year old, followed closely by my visiting In-Laws, in town from Oklahoma for the big parade.
My wife, however, was stopped in her tracks.
I wasn't allowed to leave the bleachers once I had entered the secure area, so I couldn't go back down to help her, or vouch for her, or plead with the Security Goombas to let her through in the name of humanity and all that is decent.
What I could do was watch helplessly as my lovely bride of 5-years (at the time) patiently underwent the scrutiny of what was now a collection of Rose Parade Rent-a-Cops.
After they released her, she exuberantly joined us and verbally regurgitated the details of the brief interrogation that went something like this...
Concerned, clenched, and conflicting, Cop-"Maam, may I ask what it is that you're carrying under your coat?"
Cool, calm, and collected Wife - "My baby."
S was 7 months preggers with PK at the time.