Once again, I have failed to attend the World's Largest Rocky Mountain Oyster Feed. I am ashamed of myself. Where is my civic pride? After all, it is amazing enough that a town of a few thousand (in a state with a population of just over a million people) has the world's largest anything. But I lost my courage, my appetite and very nearly my status as a citizen of Eagle.

My citizenship status is already on thin ice: not only do I go to school back East, but I'm living with a group of people known for their know-it-all attitudes and general snobbery. Snobbery is a cardinal sin in a town this small. With so few people, chances are the woman you cut off in traffic yesterday will determine whether or not you get a library card tomorrow. Be rude to the man checking out your videos at the convenience store, and you'll find out at the next city council meeting he's deciding whether or not you can build a new store. Being rude to anyone (and that includes not saying hello when you see them on the street) guarantees that you will run into them three more times that week.

I am not a snob, but my unfortunate loss of appetite for Rocky Mountain oysters threatened everything. I was forced to prove myself in other ways. I am happy to report that I have solidified my civic position. All it took was a little determination, friendliness, and a few white lies.

The World's Largest Rocky Mountain Oyster Feed is the climax of "Eagle Fun Days," a weekend of celebration in early June. The whole town turns out for some part of the events, which have grown to include a parade, staged bank robbery, numerous sports tournaments, a fireworks display, and of course, large outdoor meals. Being friendly if unforgiving folks, we usually invite all arrogant newcomers or visitors to come enjoy the fun and the Rocky Mountain oysters. All those who have disparaged the importance of farming to the American economy, thought Idaho was in the Midwest, or made fun of an Eagle resident for mispronouncing the name of a French wine are extended a special welcome to our old-fashioned civic celebration.

The celebration begins with a large pancake breakfast put on by the Chamber of Commerce and the senior citizens. Then everyone rushes to their respective sports tournaments before the noon parade. The lieutenant governor of Idaho, an Eagle resident and a convicted drunk driver, is always on hand. The National Guard, the sheriff, the rodeo queens and the school band all show up to march. Politicians in old-fashioned cars and businesses on floats throw candy. Then the real fun starts when the "wet zone" rounds the corner and the Little League, scouting troops and school organizations let loose with the water balloons.

The importance of water to the parade cannot be understated. Since the first Eagle Fund Days, the finale of the parade is the appearance of our two fire trucks and the resulting waterfight. At first, the two trucks fought each other and soaked anyone else within spraying distance. Then fire departments from other towns started asking to come and join in. This caused some resentment among the residents, who didn't feel included in the new tradition. This was soon remedied by a spectator movement that began in my subdivision.

The movement was born a few years ago when the fire trucks rounded the corner in my subdivision, running a little low on water. They were met with a full-blown attack from the spectators. Kids with supersoakers and an artillery of water balloons ran interference and diverted the attention of the firefighters. The junior high students went for the firefighters on top of the trucks, launching water balloons with their three-man sling-shot. The adults manned the garden hoses. The fire department soon ran out of water and we declared victory. However, our fire fighters are resourceful folks and stole our water balloons. They won that year, but now we hide the ammunition behind women in wheelchairs.

This new observers vs. parade policy has many happy side consequences. First of all, no one gets heat stroke. Second, the children are so busy soaking people, they don't eat much candy. Third, our ratio of citizens marching to citizens watching has now improved enough that we can rightfully call the festivities a parade, not a town procession.

The only negative to the policy is that some of the floats are ruined long before they finish the parade. If only they made waterproof crepe paper, we'd be in better shape.

During the parade, I did my duty. Not only did I sit beside the women in wheelchairs and help guard the balloons, but I talked the invited snob into attending the Rocky Mountain oyster feed for dinner.

I sang the praises of this local delicacy, talking about it's unique flavor and texture. Not only that, I promised, it was a great occasion to meet everyone and really feel a part of the town. Never having attended the Rocky Mountain Oyster Feed (did I mention it was the World's Largest?), I actually had no idea what I was talking about. However, a Harvard education has many side benefits, and knowing very little about the topic at hand did not prevent me from speaking knowledgeably about it. The snob agreed to go, and my status as a resident was restored.

Due to my lack of nerve, I never got to see the Easterner's face when she showed up at the World's Largest Rocky Mountain Oyster Feed. But I can guess what happened. When the now-dry fire fighters served her plate of food, I bet no one informed the snob she wasn't eating anything aquatic. The "hicks" usually let you get a few bites down before revealing the joke.

A warning to all: it's a good idea to be polite to citizens of Eagle. Otherwise, you may find yourself with a mouthful of bull testicles.