“Damn it’s colder than Antartica out here,” Daddy said.

“Ohh you said a bad word,” I said.

Daddy doesn’t hear me. My words are carried away on the January wind. My words are crushed in the squish of the New Year’s Day crowds on Two Street. Walking fast, Daddy is weaving through the people. My hand in a red mitten is tight in his big hand. I can see is legs. This is our time. Every since I was a baby Daddy takes me out to watch the Mummers. I don’t remember when it started. But I remember last year’s music and feathers, bright colors and dancing.

Somebody bumped into me. Hard. Daddy is walking so fast. My legs scramble to keep up with his long strides. I don’t remember all the people, too many.

My nose hurts in the cold. Rubbing my mitten over my face, I can feel snot frozen in my nose. Now my cheeks hurt too. The wind stings. My eyes begin to tear.

I was excited but I’m also scared. I want my mommy. I want to be kitchen warm and safe. This morning our house was already nutmeg and yams. Mommy bundled me up with a hat, sweater, two scarves, and my weather coat. After the mummers parade, when Daddy and I come home there would be sweet potato pie, collard greens, piles of black-eyed peas over white rice.

“Daddy I want to go home,” I say.

He doesn’t hear me. Daddy is still walking fast Somebody stepped on my foot. I cry out. Stopping, my father sweeps me up in the air.

“What’s wrong baby girl? We’re here and the parade is about to begin.”

Daddy swung me up to his shoulders high above the crowd. I could see only pigeons pecking at mustard pretzels on the street but music was around the corner. Safe and high, I held on tight. The parade was coming, the parade was coming.