By John Pixley | Special to the Courier

“Life is a carnival,” as the old Band song goes. “Two bits a shot.”

Or it’s a parade. Free for the looking.

At least it is in Claremont on the Fourth of July.

I’m not talking about our cherished July 4th parade, which once again ambled its way down Indian Hill Boulevard and over Harrison Avenue this year suddenly at 1, in the midday sun. Although I was concerned that we aren’t mad dogs and Englishmen, the city — maybe trying to avoid paying more overtime? — was blessed, lucky this time with a relatively mild high in the 80s.

No, I’m talking about the parade of folks that I saw when I pulled up to my new favorite shady viewing spot about 20 minutes early, feeling right at home shirtless in my Daisy Duke short cutoff blue-and-white hickory-striped Osh Kosh overalls and my straw hat festooned with peace pins and a pink triangle button.

My getup was actually pretty neutral or average — as in the halfway point, not, definitely not, plain. Yes, there was red, white and blue garb, but most tended to advertise beer and such or feature pro-democracy slogans, tending to the Thomas Paine variety. (I saw one T-shirt that said, “Democracy is dying.” I couldn’t see what the rest of it said but heard one guy chuckle approvingly.) There was also lots of tie-dye and plenty of band T-shirts, including a fair amount of punk bands. And also a fair number of small rainbow flags.

I saw one guy with a tattooed head and one woman with a tattooed body — literally.

Punk. Yes, that’s what I thought. Maybe I was in the freak section, but I thought everyone was out celebrating in their punk and funk finery. In the mid-day sun. I think I saw one Make America Great Again hat, a black one, on a teenaged boy. Maybe a joke?

Capitalism and entrepreneurism — the home-grown kind — was alive and well. Across the street, kids were manning a lemonade stand, the kind that were around when I was a kid. I half expected to see a kid persuading the other neighborhood kids to paint a fence. There was also a couple who stopped nearby with an oversized wheelbarrow full of cold drinks (water and soda) and bags of chips. They did a healthy business during the few minutes that they stayed.

Then a man on a bike passed by with a load of flags and other patriotic gear, presumably for sale, followed by a woman with a bubble machine, and a woman walked by handing out flyers for a fundraiser for the Damien High School band, which she made sure to point out was going to be in the parade.

It was all very homespun and hopeful, I found. Refreshing and inspiring. (Heck, I went home and began writing this!)

The parade was almost an afterthought. Or an exclamation point! The Damien High marching band was nice with its matching outfits, but I preferred Claremont High’s marching band with their funky variety of blue pants, whatever they grabbed out of the drawer. The CHS thespians also went their own way, blasting “Seasons of Love” from Rent, another vision of freedom.

There were the Claremont Irregulars, punk in flag overalls and jeans, tie-dye and whatnot. The Pilgrim Placers carried their usual anti-war and pro-justice signs, but so did some kids in a sports contingent.

It was all a glorious poke in the eye of the powers — or power — that be, almost as much as the small but very present protest that took place later in the day at Indian Hill and Foothill boulevards. It was all, again, a reminder that this is a community where red, white and blue bleeds into a colorful rainbow, where expressing oneself uniquely and freedom and independence — the real kind — are valued, something to be celebrated.