The townspeople, fortified with lawn chairs, have turned out. “Thank you!” The parade-goers shout to an elderly vet on the American Legion float. He probably fought in Korea. He smiles and waves.

We go every year to the Fourth of July parade in Gloucester, Massachusetts, the small, seaside city where my sister lives. We go even if it’s too hot and we have to rush family dinner to get to see the fireworks over Gloucester Harbor later that night. We bring the kids. Our niece, Lola, now six, tries to pick up as much candy as possible, flung from the floats. This year, the candy flew so freely, Lola was chagrined that we did not bring a bag for easier collection. We all cheer robustly for high school girls’ varsity softball, Little League, and elder abuse prevention.

Most heartily, though, the parade honors local veterans. The local American Legion post is named for Captain Lester S. Wass, a Gloucester resident and Marine killed in combat in World War I, 101 years ago this summer. The letters of his name are the biggest on the float. On the side of another float, someone has handwritten, with a Sharpie, “Land of the Free. Because of the Brave.” Most people clap loudly as currently deployed locals walk by.