The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade was big for us. Even bigger

"The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade was big for us. Even bigger was the night before, when they would blow up the balloons. Every year, I'd make a thermos of hot chocolate and we'd walk with the kids. It was just so much fun to see Snoopy come to life in the street." In this tender remembrance, Cynthia Germanotta speaks not only of parades and balloons, but of the deeper magic of shared rituals, of how ordinary streets are transformed into enchanted places when seen through the eyes of children. She reveals that the true treasure of Thanksgiving lies not only in the great spectacle, but in the quiet traditions that bind families together with joy and warmth.

The origin of this moment rests in the long history of the Macy’s Parade, first begun in 1924 as a celebration of community, harvest, and togetherness. Yet Germanotta looks beyond the grandeur of the marching bands and towering floats, finding beauty in the humble eve before the parade, when the balloons are still grounded yet rising toward life. In this she teaches us that the joy of anticipation, the quiet building of wonder, often carries more sweetness than the final event itself.

History gives us many examples of this wisdom. When medieval towns prepared for great festivals, the eve was often as important as the day itself. Families would light candles, sing songs, and prepare food while the streets filled with laughter and music. The anticipation was a feast of the heart. Just so, Germanotta’s tradition of hot chocolate, of walking with children through the streets as Snoopy and other characters took form, captures this timeless truth: that joy is not only in the grand performance, but in the humble hours of waiting together.

Her story also speaks to the power of imagination. For children, to see Snoopy “come to life in the street” is not merely to watch a balloon inflate, but to watch the impossible become possible. And for parents, the joy lies in witnessing that sparkle in their children’s eyes. This is the sacred role of tradition: to create spaces where imagination flourishes, where the heart is lifted from the ordinary into the realm of wonder.

At its core, Germanotta’s memory is a hymn to family. The hot chocolate in the thermos, the walk through chilly streets, the children’s laughter—all of these are threads woven into the fabric of belonging. The parade may gather the multitudes, but it is the small family rituals within it that endure in memory. For what is Thanksgiving if not the gathering of kin, the celebration of bonds that outlast the fleeting years?

The lesson here is clear: the greatest treasures are not always found in the main event, but in the simple rituals built around it. The grandeur of a parade may fade, but the memory of walking with family, of holding a warm cup against the cold, of watching balloons swell into life—these endure forever. One must not overlook the small in search of the great, for often the small is greater still.

The practical action is this: build traditions of your own, however simple. They need not be parades or feasts; they may be as humble as a shared walk, a special drink, or a moment of anticipation before the day. Make them steady, make them joyful, and pass them down. For in these small acts lies the heart of gratitude, the binding of generations, and the transformation of ordinary nights into sacred memories.

Thus, Germanotta’s words remind us that Thanksgiving is not only about what happens at the table or on the grand stage, but also in the quiet, glowing moments that surround it. To see Snoopy rise, to share cocoa, to walk as a family—this is the essence of the holiday: not the spectacle alone, but the togetherness that makes even the night before shine with magic.