Every year I walk down the hill to watch my town’s Memorial Day parade go by, and every year I get weepy, trying to deal with conflicted feelings that well up. I love the slightly out-of-synch twirlers and cub scouts and other young marchers who are having a good time tossing candy to kids watching from the curb. I remember wonderful parades from my Springfield, NJ, childhood, marching as a cub scout, racing at the route’s end to the local Dairy Queen that was giving out free sundaes to all. (“Maple walnut, please.”) The sound of a brass marching band always gets me going. But then, the adults and their politics get in the way of my nostalgic reverie. I grew up in the 1960s after all. Fortunately, I’m quickly shaken out of my troubled thinking by my irritation over a glad-handing local politician or, worse, bagpipes! The 2011 standouts: a passing 1959 two-tone DeSoto FireFlite (fins!) and this float of mothers and kids representing a local autism research group. I can get behind both of those with no problem.