//essays//
Fall 2018
If the Mayflower Could Float:
Growing Up with the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade
Yaira Kobrin
For as long as I can remember, my Thanksgiving has started at 4 PM on Wednesday. While hundreds sit in holiday traffic, I spend my afternoon with my nose pressed against the windows of my grandparents Upper West Side apartment, watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons get blown up. The balloons are as much a part of my Thanksgiving as turkey, or pumpkin pie, or awkward conversations with distant relatives; there’s something magical in watching the balloons, which have filled Manhattan’s streets for almost 100 years, go from large, flat pieces of rubber to the giant floating creations we know and love.
The balloons were added to the parade in 1927, three years after the parade began. Originally, the parade included live animals, taken from the Central Park Zoo, but the animals proved to be more frightening than fun, and the parade soon introduced balloons. The first balloon to appear was Felix the Cat and other beloved characters soon followed, including Popeye, the Cat in the Hat, and more. Since then, the parade has featured fan favorites like Snoopy, in various outfits and Pillsbury Doughboy, and shorter lived balloons too. The parade’s balloons are unmissable.
We divide the balloons into two categories: the ones we “get,” which are blown up on my grandparents’ block (which, exclusively on Thanksgiving, becomes “our block”), and “the others.” I always feel some sort of special claim to the balloons that I watch transition from their flat beginning to the moment when they are gingerly lifted off the ground by their volunteer handlers. When we watch the parade the next day, my sisters and I are quick to point out when “our” balloons are coming down the street. Every year, we get the Macy’s stars, which come right before Santa Claus; we get Pikachu, we get Spongebob, we get Elf on a Shelf, and then we get some new ones each year, like a Power Ranger, Olaf, or others.
My grandparents have been hosting a “watch-the-balloons-get-blown-up” party for over thirty years, with the same menu each time—lukewarm pizza, chips and pretzels, Entenmann’s pop-ems, and clementines for the health-conscious—and roughly the same guest list, which has grown to include guests’ children, and grandchildren, and sometimes even great-grandchildren. I grew up with the party; it’s gone from a huge affair, with (what seemed like, when I was younger) hundreds of people, to a smaller, more subdued party, where I no longer recognize the small children running around and now field questions about my major instead of about my favorite balloon.
Few New York City traditions are constant, but the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is one of them. The balloons have floated above a revolving door of popstars, B-list celebrities, and announcers, have paid homage to box-office hits long since forgotten, and have marked notable moments in this city and our country’s history. The balloons are grounded only in cases of severe weather, yet there were four years of clear Thanksgiving Day skies when they didn’t fly at all—throughout WWII, when Macy’s donated the rubber and helium towards the war effort. They did fly, though, in 2001, floating solemnly above the heads of hundreds of first responders who marched as guests in the parade, less than three months after the tragic events of September 11th. The balloons are a part of us, our history, our New York.
As I’ve grown up, the balloons have lost some of their thrill. I no longer sit for hours with my nose against the window, but am satisfied with a quick glance at whatever is being blown up outside. It’s not that I’ve outgrown the balloons; I still feel that same sense of magic watching them take flight early on Thanksgiving Day, and it seems like the rest of New York, and the whole country, does too. Though numerous articles were published this year discussing how to manage difficult conversations sure to arise during Thanksgiving dinner—The New York Times even had an “Angry Uncle Bot,” which allowed readers to practice talking to their angry relatives—the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade remained on the list of safe topics, one that was sure to prompt delight instead of disagreement. The parade costs $13 million dollars, a high price tag for a company that filed for bankruptcy protection in 1992—but in the age of “Angry Uncle Bots,” it may be worth considering if timeless feel-good traditions are priceless.
The balloons were added to the parade in 1927, three years after the parade began. Originally, the parade included live animals, taken from the Central Park Zoo, but the animals proved to be more frightening than fun, and the parade soon introduced balloons. The first balloon to appear was Felix the Cat and other beloved characters soon followed, including Popeye, the Cat in the Hat, and more. Since then, the parade has featured fan favorites like Snoopy, in various outfits and Pillsbury Doughboy, and shorter lived balloons too. The parade’s balloons are unmissable.
We divide the balloons into two categories: the ones we “get,” which are blown up on my grandparents’ block (which, exclusively on Thanksgiving, becomes “our block”), and “the others.” I always feel some sort of special claim to the balloons that I watch transition from their flat beginning to the moment when they are gingerly lifted off the ground by their volunteer handlers. When we watch the parade the next day, my sisters and I are quick to point out when “our” balloons are coming down the street. Every year, we get the Macy’s stars, which come right before Santa Claus; we get Pikachu, we get Spongebob, we get Elf on a Shelf, and then we get some new ones each year, like a Power Ranger, Olaf, or others.
My grandparents have been hosting a “watch-the-balloons-get-blown-up” party for over thirty years, with the same menu each time—lukewarm pizza, chips and pretzels, Entenmann’s pop-ems, and clementines for the health-conscious—and roughly the same guest list, which has grown to include guests’ children, and grandchildren, and sometimes even great-grandchildren. I grew up with the party; it’s gone from a huge affair, with (what seemed like, when I was younger) hundreds of people, to a smaller, more subdued party, where I no longer recognize the small children running around and now field questions about my major instead of about my favorite balloon.
Few New York City traditions are constant, but the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is one of them. The balloons have floated above a revolving door of popstars, B-list celebrities, and announcers, have paid homage to box-office hits long since forgotten, and have marked notable moments in this city and our country’s history. The balloons are grounded only in cases of severe weather, yet there were four years of clear Thanksgiving Day skies when they didn’t fly at all—throughout WWII, when Macy’s donated the rubber and helium towards the war effort. They did fly, though, in 2001, floating solemnly above the heads of hundreds of first responders who marched as guests in the parade, less than three months after the tragic events of September 11th. The balloons are a part of us, our history, our New York.
As I’ve grown up, the balloons have lost some of their thrill. I no longer sit for hours with my nose against the window, but am satisfied with a quick glance at whatever is being blown up outside. It’s not that I’ve outgrown the balloons; I still feel that same sense of magic watching them take flight early on Thanksgiving Day, and it seems like the rest of New York, and the whole country, does too. Though numerous articles were published this year discussing how to manage difficult conversations sure to arise during Thanksgiving dinner—The New York Times even had an “Angry Uncle Bot,” which allowed readers to practice talking to their angry relatives—the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade remained on the list of safe topics, one that was sure to prompt delight instead of disagreement. The parade costs $13 million dollars, a high price tag for a company that filed for bankruptcy protection in 1992—but in the age of “Angry Uncle Bots,” it may be worth considering if timeless feel-good traditions are priceless.
//YAIRA KOBRIN is sophomore in Columbia College and Deputy Literary & Arts Editor of The Current. She can be reached at [email protected].
Photo courtesy of: https://disneyparks. disney.go.com/blog/2011/11/this-week-in-disney-history-mickey-debuts-in-the-macys- thanksgiving-day-parade/
Photo courtesy of: https://disneyparks. disney.go.com/blog/2011/11/this-week-in-disney-history-mickey-debuts-in-the-macys- thanksgiving-day-parade/