Don’t Miss The Parade
The longer, separated quotes throughout this piece in bold are from the narration of The Wonder Years—a show that captured the heart of growing up, just as this story aims to do.
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"Every town has a homecoming parade…a few floats, a marching band that was slightly out of tune, and people lining the streets waving like it was the Rose Bowl. Still, to us, it meant we were part of something."
They say you can't go home again. I'm not sure that's entirely true. But I can tell you this—you can go to Homecoming again. The parade, that is.
As Homecoming week at Richardson High School approached, an idea struck me. Recently, I became the proud owner of something I've dreamed about for years—a convertible. I found the perfect one: twelve years old, barely 7,500 miles, tucked away in Florida. I had it shipped to Texas, and from the moment it arrived, it seemed to whisper daily, "Let's go for a ride."
So I decided—what better way to go for a ride than by gathering a few of my Class of '82 classmates and hopping into this year's Homecoming Parade?
Over the years, I'd watched from the sidelines during reunion weekends, waving and cheering with the rest of the crowd. But this time felt different. I didn't want to just be a spectator anymore. I didn't want the parade to pass me by—I wanted to be in it.
While flipping through old photos from our 40th reunion slideshow, one image caught my eye. It was from our 1982 Homecoming parade: Candy Causey, our lovely Homecoming Queen, sitting in the back of a convertible, with the equally beautiful Kim Kakacek beside her on the Homecoming Court.
I texted the photo to my friends Candy, Kim, and Clay Hollock, our Class President. The last time I called Clay, he answered the phone with a simple "Who do you need me to beat up for you?" We all need a friend like Clay.
Under the photo, I wrote a simple message: "We're going to recreate this picture. Who's in?"
Within minutes, the plan was set in motion.
"In your life, you'll go through all kinds of changes. But the one thing that will always be constant is the friends you made when you were twelve."
I jumped online and ordered two magnetic car door signs with "1982 Homecoming Queen and Court" on them, along with Candy and Kim's names. If we were doing this, we were doing it right—and the crowd deserved to know they were in the presence of RHS royalty.
Next, I shined up the car and met Clay that afternoon to pick up purple-and-gold flower bouquets for the girls. We briefly considered traditional Homecoming mums… but let's be honest—buying a mum in Texas these days requires a 30-year mortgage and a counterweight rig to keep it from toppling the poor girl wearing it. The last thing I needed was for the weight of one of those things to send my convertible into a parade-day wheelie.
We arrived at the staging area about an hour before the parade and texted Candy and Kim our location. A few minutes later, they came walking up—and oh my…
They were wearing their original 1982 cheerleader uniforms.
Huge smiles spread across our faces. Not only did the uniforms still fit, but both girls were absolutely radiant. It was as if time had stood still. We hugged. We laughed. We traded stories full of memories.
Then it was time for the parade.
The girls climbed onto the back deck of the convertible, flowers in hand, purple and gold pom poms at the ready.
Clay and I sat proudly up front, grinning like we were seventeen again. As we cruised down Belt Line Road, waving to the crowd with the school fight song playing in the distance, something unexpected began to happen.
I started to feel… lighter.
With each passing block, my spirit lifted. Life felt joyful. Simpler. Like someone had turned down the noise and turned up the color.
Looking back now, a couple of weeks later, I think I know why.
When we were young, life was like a sleek speedboat—fast, agile, chasing an endless horizon full of promise. There were bumps, sure, but nothing we couldn't bounce over. We were light. Unburdened. Full of momentum.
But as the years go by, the waters get choppier. Life gets heavier.
Responsibilities stack up. Heartbreaks accumulate. And that little speedboat begins to feel more like a cargo ship, weighed down by years of experience, joy, sorrow, and the occasional leaky pipe.
"Growing up, I always thought that life should be more like television. You know — perfect. But the thing is, I guess I was wrong. Life isn't like TV. It's messy."
The first time I rode in the Richardson Homecoming Parade, I was seventeen. My biggest worry was a senior English paper and whether my friends and I could sneak past curfew that Friday night. Adventure was everywhere.
This was before…
Our first real heartbreaks
Friends moving away
Mortgage payments
The loss of a parent
That phone call with bad news in the middle of the night
Health scares
Watching your own kids navigate pain
Tuition checks
Empty nesting
The doctor coming in the room with the test results
The current division in our country
When I rode in the parade the second time, I was sixty-one, and I'd lived all of that and more.
I wasn't that slick speedboat anymore. I was a freighter of lived experience. And some days, honestly? It felt like I was dragging an anchor.
Can you relate?
Not long after the parade, I came across an Instagram reel by one of my favorite authors, Bob Goff. In it, Bob said something that stopped me: "When life feels complicated, go back to the basics. Return to the beginning. That's where joy is."
He wasn't saying we should run from our grown-up lives—mortgages, grief, and all. He was inviting us to recalibrate. To re-center. To find joy again by stepping back into something simpler.
Sometimes, the way forward is found by going backwards. That's how you find your true north.
That's what this Homecoming parade with friends was to me. Friendships, laughter, history, community… True North.
You've probably heard the analogy: if a ship starts a journey just one or two degrees off course, it doesn't seem like a big deal at first. But mile after mile, that tiny misalignment leads it farther and farther from its intended destination. Eventually, it can end up somewhere completely unrecognizable.
Life is like that.
A small drift in our priorities. A few years of just getting through. A quiet forgetting of who we were and what mattered most—and suddenly, we wake up somewhere we never meant to be.
But here's the good news: we're never too far gone to correct the course.
Sometimes all it takes is an old photograph and a quick text to some old friends. (Okay—and in this case, also a convertible and an upcoming Homecoming Parade.)
God's Word reminds us:
"Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls." —Jeremiah 6:16
For me, the "crossroads" were quite literally Belt Line and Waterview.
The "ancient path" was the same parade route I rode in back in 1982.
And the "good way"? It was with good friends.
And yes—I absolutely found rest for my soul.
Something was healing about that slow cruise down Belt Line Road. Somewhere between the laughter, the waving, and the Beach Boys playing on the stereo, I let go of today's worries and remembered what really matters: friendship, laughter, and the kind of community God has blessed me with—then and now.
It's so easy to forget. But sometimes, it just takes a parade and a few old friends to remind you. (A high school marching band never hurts either.)
And here's my favorite part: even after the parade ended, Candy and Kim refused to sit back down. They stayed perched on the back deck, waving like royalty to every house, car, and slightly confused jogger as Clay and I drove them back to their car.
They wouldn't let the parade end.
And maybe… neither should you.
Remember Bob Goff's wisdom: "When life feels complicated, go back to the basics. Return to the beginning. That's where joy is."
Recalibrate your heart.
Find your true north again.
Find your Belt Line and Waterview—whatever your version of the Homecoming Parade might be.
Go back, so you can move forward—lighter, clearer, more joyful.
Only then can you reach the destination that was always meant for you.
So thank you, Candy, Kim, and Clay—for helping me find mine.