The Coney Island Mermaid Parade
That we Almost didn't get to + the Collective Effervescence of Parenting
Carolina woke up like a bottle of shaken seltzer. Slowly releasing pent up pressure—and then exploding. There wasn’t any reasonable explanation for why she was feeling this way. There was no school and we had a great day ahead that we had been planning and looking forward to for weeks. Kid sabotage. It’s something we’ve grown accustomed to and have learned how to navigate. But this morning, I had no patience for it.
The eggs, toast, and strawberries I had made for breakfast, things she usually enjoys, were unacceptable. She had a curious case of amnesia forgetting how to dress herself and brush her teeth. Ordinarily on a weekend morning, we’d give her time to herself. She’d go to her room and build something with legos, read, or do a puzzle. Eventually she’d emerge a new kid. But this Saturday morning, we didn’t have the luxury of time.
The Mermaid Parade is one of those events that I put on my calendar months in advance (note next year’s parade is June 19th, 2027). It’s a day unlike any other. Completely wild and unhinged, yet absolutely family-friendly. I’ve been going for years, admiring the incredible costumes and photographing the events of the day. I’ve shown up without a costume on, but probably inadvertently wearing one. My usual black summer cotton dress with pockets, a hat for sun protection, and sneakers so I could walk comfortably probably pegged me as an outsider from the land of Manhattan.
The Conies are my people. I was born in Brooklyn and my first home was in Gravesend, the neighborhood just north of Coney Island. I’m drawn to the mix of history, creativity, and diversity that makes the area so unique. Yet I’ve always gone to Coney Island as a visitor arriving on the subway with an abundance of sunscreen, a budget for boardwalk games, and a determination to keep the seagulls away from my Nathan’s french fries.
In the weeks leading up to the parade, I showed Carolina pictures and her enthusiasm for it was infectious. She didn’t just want to go see it, she wanted to be a part of it. 2026 would be the year that I would go to the mermaid parade looking like a mermaid.
I scoured my closet for pieces I could transform into a costume finding a silver skirt, seashell-shaped handbag, and angel crown. With an assist from a thrift shop and my hot glue gun, I had a mermaid headpiece and seashell top and a glittery gold dress for Carolina that she absolutely loved.
We were ready. We had a plan for the day. Breakfast. Costumes. Subway. Parade. Nathan’s. And to top it off, a performance at the Coney Island Circus Sideshow.
So why, after all the planning and excitement, did Carolina wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Maybe overwhelm from thinking about the day ahead? Maybe not enough sleep? Maybe a lack of attention as I used the remnants of our supplies to create a seashell hat for Michael? Whatever it was, we had to be on the subway for the long ride to Coney Island and the clock was working against us. So we struggled. Getting dressed ended in tears and breakfast became a bag of pretzels eaten on the subway with teeth that had not been brushed. But it felt like a victory to be on our way and the MVP was my husband, Michael, who somehow coaxed her into getting dressed and out the door.
There’s a term I just heard thanks to Barri Grant called Collective Effervescence. Doesn’t it just sound fantastic? It’s what happens when large groups of people experience the same emotion at the same time. If you’ve ever been in a stadium when your team scores the winning goal, at a concert when thousands of people sing the same lyric, or during a wedding ceremony for a couple everyone adores, you’ve felt it. Barri was referring to the Knicks, but the feeling was everywhere in Coney Island.
As we stepped onto the subway and spotted another mermaid, the frustrations of the morning dissolved and the tears dried. The pretzels were her appetizer and a Nathan’s frank was her main course. We cheered for octopuses, sea witches, and creatures that defied classification. Strangers complimented our costumes and we posed for photos feeling very much like a part of the experience. For a few hours, thousands of people found joy in the same delightful absurdity.
The parade gave us collective effervescence on a grand scale, but the feeling really began around our kitchen table with a seven-year-old who thought it would be more fun to be a mermaid than to watch one go by.
P.S. Happy Father’s Day to all the dads, stepdads, grandfathers, father figures, and especially to Michael, Carolina’s Dad, who got our crying mermaid dressed and onto the Q train.
Words of the Week
“ I see a collective effervescence as more than excitement. I actually see it as medicine. Like, we need to be witnessed —seen, heard, and witnessed in the highest and the lowest points of our life. And we need belonging. We don’t watch TV at the same time anymore. We don’t read the same papers. We don’t really share these cultural touch points that we once did. So for that one moment, we are a we.” — Barri Grant on NPR
Photo of the Week
We were seated a little too close for comfort at the Coney Island Circus Sideshow were performer Aurora North slid a hand-cranked drill through her nose and into her skull. The performers included sword swallowers and fire-eaters and the show was the perfect way to close our day at Coney Island.
This Thursday at 11am in NYC! Writing Workshop
If you live in/around NYC, please join me for my prompt-writing class, What Do You See? at the New York Society Library. Class is free for members and $20 for non-members (simply buy a $20 day pass to the library to participate and enjoy all the library has to offer for the day).
When: Thursday, June 25th at 11 am
Where: New York Society Library on 79th Street off Madison
It's always such fun reading your weekly post. Love the mermaid costumes - well done!