A Labor (Day) of Love

You can’t go to the parade without sunglasses, colorful outfitting and the right mental attitude. Click to see more, and you’ll understand what it’s all about….

One of these days I’m not going to be able to go to the Brooklyn Labor Day parade. My feet will ache too much, my eyes will exhaust from overwhelming scenes of color, charisma and thickness in the right and wrong places. My body won’t be able to withstand the fluctuating overcrowd of bodies, my ears won’t be able to handle the shrill pitch of the whistles and the rapid-paced soca and dancehall music that causes a knee-jerk reaction dance.

Until then, I’m going to be waving my flag, eating jerk chicken, rice and beans, rum punch and cocoa bread. I’ll be laughing at the boldness of the big girls rocking thongs outside and standing in awe at the dancers on stilts.

I’ll be peaking at the never-ending attractions of cleavage and curves, and marveling at the sea of brown, beautiful women whom men could never be grateful enough for.

I’ll be forever wondering how I can get on one of those floats, thinking about how long it takes for the parade people to put on their uniforms.

I will always marvel at how the weather always sets its schedule, making sure the sun kisses our skin and breezes our bodies. I’m strolling through the projects, stopping at the bodegas and tuning up my accent translator while eavesdropping.

I’m going in every year knowing at some point I’m going to be jammed in a crowd, surrounded by occasional drunkeness and debauchery, flavor and favortism. It’s all about the culture, and its the essential ingredient to life in chocolate skin.

One of these days, I’m not going to go. I’m not sure when that will ever be.

Tagged as: Big Deals, black men, black women, Brooklyn, Caribbean culture, Celebration, Labor Day parade, Nathan "The Black Man's Black Man" Wilson, parades