Temerarious Tabias- Canada Day Cars

Canada Day Cars

“It’s Dominion Day,” Step Mother snarled. The parade began with a bang, laughter, and music as it drove down 100th Street. “Not Canada Day.”

Tabias moaned, but that didn’t stop Step Mother, “When three provinces came together!” Canada, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick.” Her pride in the country was unmistakable as well as her hurt in failed recognition of the colorful, candy-filled, commercialized, ruined celebration.

“It’s all wrong.” Step Mother dropped her head in shame for the failed reason of the parade. “Something as glorious as gaining control over our affairs? Turned into a circus attraction. No one remembers it took another century to pass the constitution act. Allowing us to have full say of our own country finally.”

“Mom, it’s all for fun,” Tabias kicked a pebble. Sister sat on the curb and ripped legs off bugs, not even bothering to look up when the candy landed in front of her. The street was lined with hundreds of kids that were only looking for the candy landing on the street.

“What do cheerleading squads have to do with the struggles the government had to go through? Numerous bills declined, daily arguments of dominion versus country?” Step Mother clasped her hands together until her knuckles turned white.

“Mom,” Tabias pulled on her shirt sleeve to get her attention.

“They tried to keep the name Dominion Day. Even now, politicians try to go back. Canada Day, pfft. That’s as bad as naming your child- child.”

“Mom,” Tabias nudged her, trying harder to get her attention.

A Hawaiian hula girl float made an appearance, and lays flew everywhere. Step Mother caught a glow stick, growled, and threw it back at the truck.

“It’s all wrong,” she complained, steam billowed from her ears before faltering, fading and being replaced by disappointment.

“Mom,” Tabias kicked her boot, but she hardly blinked. The music grew louder as the parade grew to an end. Step Mother’s face fell as the last float truck appeared on 100th Ave. The truck didn’t have a single decoration on it.

“Mom!” Tabias yelled, jumping up and down in front of her. Finally, she pulled her eyes from the pavement. “Look!” he pointed.

Tabias was pointing at the undecorated truck, and it had a familiar bicycle handlebar dent on the door. It was their truck! Father waved to Step Mother.

“Look, Mom, look!”

Dozens of colorful strings began on the bumper and ended on dozens of hot wheel car bumpers.

“What? How?” Step Mother stuttered. The mini-cars looked like moving confetti in the street.

“There’s seventy-five of them,” Tabias commented. Sister jumped up from her pile of wingless butterflies and squealed in joy. Clapping and laughing as the flag attached to the most significant (two-inch-tall hot wheel truck) read, ‘Happy Dominion Day.’

“Oh, Tabias, you did this for me?” Step Mother sniffled tears of joy.

He flushed, grinned, and replied, “well, that wouldn’t be very temerarious, now would it?”

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