The Pony marched in the Newmentia carnival parade this afternoon. Instead of the regular band uniforms, the band always dresses in khaki shorts and white shirts for this event. The temperature was 37 degrees when we left. It hovered in the low forties during marching time. The Pony refused to wear a sweatshirt.
Some years, we sit along that parade route hotter than a pepper sprout. This year, we stayed in T-Hoe with the windows up, draped with jackets on backwards. Folks ignored the students trying to earn money selling sodas, and walked down the street to the little store to buy large coffees. There was also room left to sit along the sidewalk beside the church at the town square, a rarity. And hardly any little kids let go of balloons and cried as they drifted into the wild blue yonder. The band was supposed to wear sunglasses. I only saw two marchers sporting them. It was, after all, overcast.
When The Pony returned from his mile-long forced march, he turned on his seat heater and sat on his hands. He announced that his legs did not get cold, but that his hands almost fused to his trombone.
Sunday is the spring concert. At least the gym will be heated, if only to 68 degrees. The Pony says he is supposed to bring extra clothes. Not for warmth. To cover himself after he turns in his band uniform.
Two more weeks, and his freshman year is history.