parade day

We are watching the Chief’s Superbowl parade on tv. There are too many people downtown and I am not inclined to be one of them. The newspeople are so happy and excited to be there even though they are shivering in the cold, February air and I can see that their arms and legs are frozen in place as they grip microphones and smile. It is calm along the parade route down Grand Blvd as fans are simply thrilled to be waiting. They have already stood for hours, having arrived before dawn just to glimpse Patrick Mahomes in person sometime around noon. There is a hope that he will walk down the street instead of riding the double-decker bus and fist-bump the kids, maybe stop to sign a new superbowl hat. It is all that they want. A moment.
I watch the parade coverage and draw in my process book for a couple of hours and still the parade has not made it to the reporters at Union Station where the rally will be held. When they announce that the players are nearly there but will head inside to have lunch before coming out to the huge stage I turn off the tv and make my own lunch.
It is not until hours later, when I am in the front yard with the dog and the “nosey neighbors” walk over, that I hear about the shooting. They don’t have any details and they seem to want to gossip about it in a careless way so I wave them off and find the local news coverage on my phone.
I am saddened immediately. But also relieved that it was not a massacre, a planned terrorist event, a suicide bomber… all of those terrible terrible things that every American can conjure, can feel.
I have the same thoughts that I have read again and again “not in my city” “this is not who we are”.
And the proof is how Kansas City has shown up for the victims. This city will hold them tight and give them more than thoughts and prayers.