While some people yearn to climb Mount Everest or find the Higgs boson particle, my inherent loathing of nature and lack of the mathematical acumen required to be a physicist resulted in my dreams being a bit less grandiose. The upside to this realization of my own shortcomings is that some of my life’s ambitions are incredibly easy to fulfill. So for the past couple of years, one of my pet obsessions was to be a Spider-Man balloon handler in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

An unremarkable dream yes, but one that I was shocked to want to make come true. You see, along with a hatred of the outdoors and counting stuff, my mental laundry list of various dislikes also includes crowds and parades. So this desire of mine made no sense. Did I want to do something out of character as a way of exploring my personal growth, or did I merely think it would be neat to guide a vinyl doppelganger of Spidey through the streets of New York City?

Grappling with these questions was ultimately futile, as seemingly the only way to be a balloon handler is to be a Macy’s employee or an invited guest of the company.

But instead of letting my dream die, I just did what everyone else seems to be doing these days and lowered my expectations. Thusly, instead of handling Spider-Man in New York City I decided to pursue the much more easily obtainable goal of carrying a balloon in Philly’s parade. This was one of the best decisions I ever made. After looking over the list of balloon possibilities, there was one that seemed like a no-brainer for me: Kermit the Frog.

As a life-long Muppet freak who has contemplated buying The Onion’s “I Appreciate the Muppets on a Much Deeper Level than You” shirt on several occasions, it felt right that Kermit and I finally meet. So within minutes of sending my request to the parade’s Volunteer Coordinator I received my response with my assignment. Kermit was a go. It would soon be time to play the music, time to light the lights…

On Thanksgiving morning, I arrived at the Crowne Plaza at 6:30am uncertain of what the day would throw at me. After signing a release and receiving a commemorative pin (which seemed like an odd thing to give to people who will be working around massive balloons), I met Edwin Montoute, a five-year veteran of the parade who was overseeing all of Kermit’s handlers. He gave me my official uniform which consisted of a goofy frog hat that the crowd inexplicably went apeshit for and a greenish jumpsuit to wear.

After getting changed, I killed a few minutes by pretending to be a member of the Dharma Initiative when I noticed some sad faces on the other volunteers. “What’s wrong?,” I asked a Curious George handler while secretly plotting to replace my lame hat with her awesome monkey one. “Garfield exploded,” she replied with a hushed gravitas the likes of which I haven’t heard since 9/11. I nodded, mentally decided to forego the lame joke I was going to make about the dangers of excessive lasagna consumption and headed over to the breakfast table for a chocolate chip muffin.

It’s at this point that I should mention that while the balloon handlers were only given pre-packaged things like danish to eat, the marching bands were treated to full bacon and egg breakfasts. Just remember that the next time you think that social inequity doesn’t permeate even the most minute aspect of contemporary American life. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance to hold my Occupy Crowne Plaza rally in order to score an omelet, as it was time to head to the gathering area on 20th Street between Market and JFK.

Once we all arrived, we saw a deflated Kermit lying face down in street. My initial fears that he had endured a Garfield-style tragedy were soon alleviated when Montoute and a representative from the balloon company, Fabulous Inflatables, explained that Kermit was a cold-air balloon and that’s why he wasn‘t up and ready yet. Basically, this means he is just a large-scale version of those blow-up Santa Clauses and snowmen you see on lawns this time of year. Instead of being held up by the handlers, he would rest on a float that would be pulled by me and the 16 other volunteers in rotating shifts.

Although this meant that I technically would be a balloon puller and not a balloon handler, I was fine with the compromise because, holy shit, I was moments away from standing underneath a gargantuan replica of my favorite puppet. After the inflation process began, it took about five minutes for Kermit to reach his height of nearly 40 feet.

Before I knew it, it was time to begin our duties.

The rest of the morning is a blur of waves, smiles and me trying not to get knocked on my ass by Kermit’s huge leg every time we agreed to crowd demands to “spin it!” and turn the balloon around 360°. (A parade phenomenon that I was completely oblivious to beforehand). Another thing I didn’t anticipate is the giddiness I would feel because of the experience. As anyone who knows me will be quick to point out, I am a jaded shell of a man. Yet under the watchful gaze of Kermit all of my misanthropy melted away.

At one point during the roughly 45-minute parade route from 20th and JFK to the Art Museum a little kid with a Kermit the Frog hand puppet beamed when he saw his idol hovering just outside of his grasp. This got me to thinking about how much Kermit meant to me when I was growing up. I felt overwhelmed by gratitude to be able to share some of his magic, albeit in a small way, with the thousands of people who gathered on the Parkway. Shortly thereafter, the parade was over, and Kermit was being deflated and packed away for another year.

On the shuttle bus back to the Sheraton at 17th and Race to return my costume, I realized that although handling Kermit wasn’t my original goal it was a more than worthwhile substitution — especially now that The Muppets is introducing a new generation to Jim Henson’s wonder.

So yeah, it’s not that easy being green. But, oh man, it’s so worth it.﻿