Friday night’s Krewe of Phoenix Mardi Gras parade — like many public events — can bring life lessons in unexpected ways.

Flying beads, tiny stuffed animals and other trinkets can bring out the best and the worse in us.

The lesson I learned at the parade is the best of us are young people and the worst of us are adults.

That lesson seems to cut through matters of race and class.

Let me explain. When we got to the parade route, we spotted several people we knew on the opposite sides of the street.

The Breithaupt family waved us over and then the Doyles spotted us and invited us to visit with them.

Four-year-old Anna was having none of it. Our spot, she was convinced was on the first corner upon which we arrived — the corner where we did not know a soul.

No sooner than the sirens of emergency response vehicles began wailing did we experience the first bit of humanity. A group came out of nowhere and effectively edged into Anna’s spot.

The children were polite, the adults not as much. They stood in front of our 4-year-old without concern.

Not in the mood to start a confrontation over something trivial like this, we simply repositioned ourselves up the street again.

All the while I kept thinking, we could be standing with the other folks we knew, but our little hardheaded girl was adamant. This was our corner.

As the parade continued, a young man of perhaps 15 years old began leaping in front of others to snatch beads and other throws out of the sky.

At first, I thought he was being rude and taking advantage of his height to grab spoils from over the heads of the many younger people all around hem. Then I realized, the catching was just a sport for him, and he was doling out his collection of catches to the children around him, including Anna. It’s funny how one’s immediate perception can change with a little careful observation.

A little while later, one of the float riders threw a small stuffed animal — it almost looked like it was crocheted to me — near Anna’s feet. Out of nowhere a quicker and older girl nearby snatched it up before Anna could get it.

Anna was obviously a bit upset, but I thought she’d learned a valuable lesson of Mardi Gras parades — quick reactions reap rewards.

A moment or two later, the little girl, who appeared to be around 10 years old, walked up to Anna and tried to give her the small animal figure.

Before Anna could accept, the grown-up who may have been mother or grandmother to the child jerked her arm back and muttered something to the effect of, “Don’t give that away, give it to me, I don’t have anything.”

The girl did as her elder advised and snatched back the doll.

A moment of child-like generosity was ruined by someone with the age to know better, but lacking the wisdom to see her actions were wrong.

Instead she provided a poor example for her small charge and illustrated clearly how adults can slowly ruin those around them — little and big.

I shrugged off the tiny incident, and Anna was no worse for wear by it. She still came home with a pile of beads that eventually need to make their way back to Pleasant Acre Day School’s Mardi Gras bead recycling program.

As I continued to watch the people around us, it was clear there were two types of parents at the parade — those whose focus was on their children and those around them and those more focused on themselves.

As another round of beads flew toward my head and I plucked them out of the sky I asked a nearby parent, “Would your daughter like these?”

“No, she has enough already.”

In a 6-foot radius, on Main Street Friday evening, we witnessed greed, generosity and graciousness.

What an amazing responsibility we all have to those around us. Driving home I thought, “How often am I that woman, saying, ‘I want that toy (or whatever noun is fitting at the moment?’”

How often do I reach for things only to hand them over to others like that young man and how often do I say, “I have enough” when offered more.

Who knew so many life lessons — good and bad — could appear as plastic beads, candy and trinkets soar through the sky?
Kevin Cooper is publisher of The Natchez Democrat. He can be reached at 601-445-3539 or kevin.cooper@natchezdemocrat.com.