The Parade Part 6
March 20, 2026
The Parade Part 6
In 1956, my first-grade class participated in the school-wide annual May Day celebration. Excitement mounted up until the special day. The sixth graders did the Maypole dances, and every other class had its own performance across the large playground. For many of us, this was our first experience with being “on stage.”
None of us had ever been in a pageant or a group show. Our teacher, Mrs. Newell, announced that our class would parade—single file—dressed as bunnies. We would dance our way across the playground to a new hit from California called “The Bunny Hop.” This was thrilling.
At a room mothers’ meeting, Mrs. Newell explained the costume requirements. Each child was to have a full bunny suit made of white furry material, complete with long floppy ears and a big cotton tail. The fabric could be purchased at Hammel’s Department Store in downtown Mobile, and most importantly, the mothers would receive a discount in honor of the special May Day show. The plans were in place.
We practiced our Bunny Hop parade every day. The music entered our bodies. We hopped together, each of us holding onto the bunny in front of us, forming one long line of bouncing joy. The song still rings in my ears.
But there was a problem.
By the time my mother went to Hammel’s to buy the white furry material, it was sold out. More punctual mothers had claimed every last bolt. There was no similar fabric anywhere in Mobile. My classmate Carol Dudley and I were now the only bunnies without prospects for a costume.
Mrs. Newell, practical and resourceful, came up with a solution. And to my six-year-old horror, I learned that Carol and I would be wearing polka-dot bunny costumes. So, our bunny suits were white with brown polka dots.
Carol and I could not have looked more different from the other bunnies. Mrs. Newell tried to soften the blow by spacing us evenly among the long line of pristine white bunnies. But from the inside of the costume, it didn’t help. I felt like an oddball—an anomaly hopping through a field of the real bunnies.
For my budding ego, being different was anathema. Deviance from the norm was to be avoided at all costs. My ego was already shaped by fear, especially the fear of being unacceptable, and of standing out. Blending in felt essential. And there I was, polka-dotted, hopping as if I were as happy as all the other bunnies.
Yes, my avoidance was and is deviance. Ego avoidances begin early, and we carry them all our lives. How we deal with them depends on how conscious we are of them. The polka-dot bunny suit became unforgettable for me because it represented my helplessness in avoiding being different. Yet, like all ego avoidances, it also contained its opposite. What we try hardest to avoid often turns out to be a portal into confidence and groundedness.
Each Enneagram type has its own characteristic avoidance:
Anger
Our needs
Failure
Ordinariness
Emptiness
Deviance
Pain
Weakness
Conflict
Life, it turns out, is a parade of very different people, regardless of what we wear. Some parades demand uniform costumes and give the illusion that everyone marching is the same. But reality is otherwise. Each of us is a personal essence with a spiritual identity uniquely our own. And paradoxically, what our ego most wants to avoid is often the very passageway into that deeper identity.
Looking back, I see that parade more clearly now: a long line of white bunnies hopping in time—and two polka-dotted ones, impossible to miss. The music played on. The parade moved forward. And every bunny, whether uniform or not, had a place in the line. This early and memorable event taught me many things I would be working on for a lifetime, and one of these was self-acceptance, regardless of circumstances.
Spiritual practice: Discover how your avoidance is a portal rather than something to be avoided.
Self-inquiry: How does your avoidance open you to deeper self-understanding?
Prayer:
Dear God, I am so grateful that you are with me in the parade of life. Amen
