Don’t Rain on My Parade…by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Lately, incidents long past, things I haven’t thought about for a half-century or longer, are popping into my memory.

When I was in second grade, my mother signed me up for Brownies. Meetings were held in Borough Hall, a community center within walking distance from our home. I had no idea what Brownies was, but Mommy promised it would be fun, that I’d make new friends and take part in activities.

e6147f5ab3ec43cd9c23b65fbe5da09aI discovered that half of the troop were classmates of mine from my parochial school; the other girls went to the local public school. They were my instant new friends, who would be constants in my life through high school. Two of their mothers served as leaders. Mrs. Chapin and Mrs. Jenkins were sweet, patient women.

Folding chairs ringed the spacious meeting room. While we waited for others to arrive, we engaged in a lively game of tag.

After the meeting, Mom asked if I had fun, and I responded affirmatively.

The next day, when I returned home after school, my mother met me at the door with a furrowed brow and crossed arms. “Mrs. Chapin just called me. She said you were very wild at Brownies yesterday.”

I was mystified. The word wild conjured visions of jungles and tigers in my brain. How had I been wild?

I assured my mother that, no, I had not been wild at Brownies.

Unconvinced, Mom warned me, “If you act wild at your meetings, you will not be allowed to be a Brownie.”

As I was growing up, I always considered my behavior to be exemplary. Of course, remembering this incident now at my advanced age, I recognize that my hysterical laughing and running around during the game of tag certainly could be classified as wild. If I had been Mrs. Chapin, I would have called my mother, too.

The highlight of that first year of Brownies (which would be an annual event throughout my Girl Scout career) was marching in the Memorial Day parade.

Memorial Day Parade by Jose Oquendo

Photo by Jose Oquendo

The parade was already a big deal for me. I had watched it from the curb every year of my life. The marchers gathered in a nearby schoolyard, the parade route passing close by my house on the way to Victory Park. There, in front of a World Wars monument, the  brave fallen warriors were remembered in speeches by elected officials, followed by the playing of Taps and a twenty-one-gun salute.

But that year, the parade was all about ME, dressed in my Brownie uniform, while thousands of adoring fans cheered as I marched past. Obviously, I was now famous.

It’s funny how children perceive themselves as the center of the universe. I had missed the whole point of the parade—that thousands of servicemen and women had given their lives to defend my country’s freedom. They were the heroes, not me.


Let us never forget.

Did someone you love perish in a war? Are you or a family member or friend deployed overseas, or serving in the armed forces within the United States? Please share in the comments below.

About Andrea R Huelsenbeck

Andrea R Huelsenbeck is a wife, a mother of five and a former elementary general music teacher. A freelance writer in the 1990s, her nonfiction articles and book reviews appeared in Raising Arizona Kids, Christian Library Journal, and other publications. She is currently working on a young adult mystical fantasy novel and a mystery.
This entry was posted in Celebrations, Doing Life Together, Family Life, Life, Memoir, Mom, Parenting, War and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Don’t Rain on My Parade…by Andrea R Huelsenbeck

  1. No one I knew was killed in a war. Amazing, isn’t it? I was hooked by your photo of the Brownie hat. In our town, the 6th grade teacher, Miss Jolly, led the Brownie troop. I loved it, especially that brown hat with the dancing figure. Unfortunately, Miss Jolly moved away after one or two years, and no one agreed to lead the troop. Fast forward to my older daughter’s Brownie troop. The hat was still the same! That Christmas I made dough ornaments to give away, and you can probably guess what I gave the troop leaders — orange Brownie ornaments, about three inches high, modeled after the one on the hat. Thanks for pulling up some old memories in my life.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. kirizar says:

    I’m following the links posted in your article on Writing Person Experiences in 2018. It’s nice to be able to find prior works this way. I often hesitate to comment because, two years later, seems like I’m a tardy student trying to suck up to teacher to get a gold star, or something like that. (Analogies are my achilles tendon.)

    I was reminded here of my time in marching band. I walked in front because no body wants to march with trombones behind them. (We are the aggressors of the band hierarchy. We keep people in line or we bop them in the head.) I felt like the entire world was watching me as I marched. Instead, at most, they probably wondered at the short one throwing off the line of young men making up the front row. Thanks for sharing the memory of being a Brownie. I have vague recollections of my days back then, but nothing nearly as intriguing to report upon.

    Liked by 1 person

    • LOL! I was never so blessed as to be in marching band, but two of my daughters were (percussion and flute). Thanks for sounding in. I’m impressed you’re actually reading my personal experience pieces. Obviously, you are the reader I wrote them for. Glad to meet you!

      Liked by 1 person

      • kirizar says:

        I go in spurts. I can drop off the planet for months at a time and then binge read a years worth of posts like I’m eating popcorn. Some people probably think I’m a scammer from my blitz attack of like buttons.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Well, thank you, Kiri, for clicking my Like button.


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