My little piece of Carnival

involved standing on a corner vying for a place to stand and a view to photograph. I wasn't the only one.

Though the desfile infantil is one of the smaller parades featured during Carnival week, it still drew a cast of hundreds to Merida's sidewalks: mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, all here to see their tiny family representatives float down the street, resplendant in their satin, felt, and tule.

We waited together in the afternoon heat, anticipating sweet smiles and beauty pageant waves. And then it came-- a parade of the children, eyes wide and full of... JOY...LEss...ness. That's right, joylessness.

This should be of no surprise to any of us. I mean, come on-- whether we're talking about the Disneyland Parade that my school's marching band played in when I was thirteen, the Halloween parade that my friend's kids were in last October, or this desfile infantil in Merida two weeks ago, the reality is the same: marching in a parade is not nearly as fun as it's cracked up to be.

Sure, costumes are fun!-- until you have to stand in line, in the heat, waiting for your group's turn to walk down the street. For me at the age of thirteen, it involved a wool uniform with fake epaulets and a big, wooly hat that evoked images of the London Guard run amok in Southern California. For these five year olds, it was sticky combination of lamé, humidity, and mermaid pasties. Cute, yes. Sweaty and irritable, definitely.

But enough about me. The fact remains that parades are best carried out by adults-- preferably adults who have access to beer so that they can withstand the wait time and the heat, so they can trade in their daytime work masks for their nighttime Carnival costumes and take joy in the freedom of outrageous anonymity.

All said and done, the best view I got was after I'd left the parade route, when I came upon this post-parade mini harem waiting for their parents to pick them up. No longer under the public eye, they eyed each other, perhaps getting a glimpse of what it means to be grown up with make-up and sparkles.

I think I'm starting to understand. Sure, the kids probably had more fun anticipating the parade than being the parade, but they also got to be a part of something much larger, something they will need when they are older: a chance to escape.