May Day

Today is May Day. Growing up in Texas I don’t recall ever having heard of this as being a special day. It was just May 1st. Of course we had Cinco de Mayo to focus on, but here in Portland May Day is a big thing.

Every year there is the May Day Parade, which tends to be an excuse to block traffic at afternoon rush, and to protest a plethora (don’t get to use that work often) of issues. In fact, I don’t know why they don’t just call it Protest Day. Possibly because that might imply that it isn’t OK to protest on other day? Horror or horrors!!

Portland is the most protesting city in the country, and every time someone feels like protesting guess who pay? Anyone trying to use the streets downtown. I’m glad there’s something these people feel passionate about, but do they have to inflict pain on my day? Because, I’m telling you right now, that kind of action doesn’t endear me to them or their cause(s).

Here’s the other thing, who is protesting? The unwashed crazy looking groups that’s who. You know the white kids with ratty looking dreads (hardly ever a good look on us white folks), patchouli smelling, hemp wearing, tattooed, body pierced, vegan eating, composting toilet using group. You know that group that feels superior to all the rest of us because their lives are somehow more important. Why? I don’t know!

So, to avoid the marching, drumming, chanting, superior attitudes and inevitable traffic jams, I’m leaving work early today. I’ll spend my afternoon, delivering neighborhood newsletters, finalizing details for tomorrow’s neighborhood wide garage sale, watering the garden and flower pots, and hopefully I’ll get in a few laughs with some friends. Not a big statement by standard of Portland protester, but my version of a great way to celebrate May Day.