It has been a harried month in Normal, as the start of Fall always seems to be. A sense of expectation mixed with dread set in the third week of August-the week when more than half the population started some kind of school: from the first-timer kindergarteners to the master's students at the state university. The streets and side-walks were abuzz. The yellow school-buses dotted the town like overgrown taxi cabs in a city forty times larger.

Normal is the kind of place that everybody lived in once, but won't likely move to again on purpose. But while you're here it's not too bad. At least that's what Eric says. He rather likes it here. Everyone knows Eric in his subdivision cul-de-sac. It's hard to miss his house because of the lush carpet of perfectly manicured lawn it sits upon. Eric spends every waking-weekend-moment either working in the yard or thinking about how he should be. Being a State Farm corporate accountant may have job stability, but it doesn't offer much in the excitement department. Grass, however, always has a roller-coaster of opportunities for Eric.

"Eight bags of Scott's™ Turf Builder?" said the college-dropout-cum-Menards-checkout guy, "Man, you must have a huge lawn!" "Actually," replied Eric, "I'm stocking up because of this great sale." The checkout guy's raised eyebrow while gun-beeping all eight bags betrayed his feelings: this guys needs to get a life. Eric never flinched as he contemplated whether it was worth getting two more bags, "You must be having this 25% off sale since the store is moving into your huge new place over by the interstate, eh?" The clerk gave him his receipt with a blank stare and a "We've got a new store?" Eric left saying over his shoulder, "Aren't you the one who works here?"

Almost home, Eric offered the mandatory Midwest wave to Jill who was exiting the sub-division in her brand-new silver Mitsubishi Montero Sport™, a car her husband may have helped make at the factory in town. Her 3-year-old twins, Jenny and Jerry were strapped into their matching toddler car seats in the back seat. They were bleating some Rugrats® cartoon song out for the millionth time that day to each other when Jill got a call from her best friend Beth who was to meet her at the newly opened Dunkin' Doughnuts®. Jill's end: "You're kidding!... lines down the street... and they had to ship in more doughnuts from Springfield?... well we're already on our way... about five minutes... ok, see you there." Apparently the Dunkin' Doughnuts people had not realized the virtual vacuum that existed for coffee, bagels and doughnuts in this town, because this new shop opening was treated like a state visit from the Queen of England by the average doughnut-deprived resident of Normal. For three days straight people crammed the little shop and by the time Jill and the twins arrived, there was a line stretching thirty or so people out the door. But an outing for the kids is a necessity, so Jill decided to brave the line-besides, Beth and her daughter let them cut in line with them about twenty spots back. Jill gave those behind the obligatory "but I have kids with me" look while Jenny and Jerry started an encore of the Rugrats song of the day.

Things were getting downright ugly in the Dunkin' Doughnuts. It resembled a Communist era 1979 bread line in Russia, with not nearly enough supply to meet the far more fabricated demand. By the time Jill, Beth and the kids got within eyeshot of the counter, they were out of everything but decaf coffee and poppy seed bagels. They closed down the shop completely right before Jill could make it through the glass double doors. Once back in the SUV, Jill was armed with only a complimentary free small coffee certificate to feed the kids with, so they headed home.

There they found a patriotic colored flyer hung on their door which announced, "All Neighborhood Kids Parade-This Afternoon at Three-Wear Your Red, White, and Blue Clothing and Bring A Flag (In order to give our kids a stress-free and fun time during these tense times we will march from our subdivision to the park down the road where they can play together and celebrate America!) Jill carried the flyer into the living room where Jake sat seemingly unaware of their entry, and, as usual, watching football.

"I thought all the games were cancelled because of the terrorist attacks," said Jill. "They were," Jake spoke while still looking at the screen, "this is just a tape of a game from the '94 season-man, we really should have made it that year!" Jill asked him if he'd seen the flyer, and when she didn't hear a reply she took the twins into the kitchen where she simultaneously micro-waved some Bagel Bites™ and called a few neighbors to find out about the parade through the grapevine.

They all lined up at about 2:55 in the afternoon at the entrance to the subdivision. It was quite a sight. Elementary school kids in bright red and blue shirts waving flags and playing tag in stranger's yards. Babies dressed up by mom in too-small 4th of July outfits that now had new use. Toddlers perched in strollers larger than some eastern-European automobiles, waving little flags when they weren't sticking them in their mouths for safe-keeping and moisturizing. Dads with patriotic base-ball caps and Moms with last summer's Old Navy flag T-Shirts. They all started to spontaneously march down the street toward the park at 3 o'clock.

The line began to stretch down the street and before long everyone realized that this was "pretty amazing." The "parade" was probably 150 or more men, women, & children strong. Fifth and sixth graders raced on their bicycles up and down the line on the street in packs while their younger siblings tried to catch up-flopping violently from side to side on their unbalanced training wheels. People in the neighboring subdivision came out of their air-conditioned living rooms to watch and yell over to their neighbors, "Hey, did you hear anything about this?" It was the kind of spontaneously patriotic neighborhood thing that Eric had only heard his Grandparents talk about-things that happened before or during World War II. Certainly before Vietnam.

Eric was analytically observing and subconsciously grading each lawn they passed when he saw Jake start walking out in the street with little Jerry on his shoulders. Jake now wore a triple-extra-large black Desert Storm T-Shirt that was 1 part patriot and 2 parts Harley-Davidson. He turned a bit to his side and then looked up and down the awe-inspiring line. "This is pretty amazing!" he said to no one in particular, "We ought to be singing something, don't you think." Several Dads mumbled an approval. One or two moms turned to their kids in a cheerleader tone: "Yeah! Do you kids want to sing!" Eric surprised himself when he blared out, "How about God Bless America?" "Great one!" responded Jake, "That's perfect... ok, how does it go again?" Everyone in the line within earshot lowered their heads against the sun and some tried to ball-park the right note to start on. The march continued with only scattered chatting and humming. Jake nonchalantly re-entered the line and put Jerry down with Jenny in their massive plastic wagon. No one could quite remember how it started, and those that did were unsure of the words in the middle.

And so on that Sunday in Normal, the silent parade of American children marched on, led by a generation of parents without an anthem to pass on.

Eric overheard Jerry and Jenny twenty feet behind him responding to the silence with another round of their Rugrats rhyme. This time Jill didn't mind the interruption.