July 4, 2012: A Few Thoughts from Celebrations Past

Zach parading with Old Glory at age 2
(Mom made the outfit and I painted the matching hat)

The Fourth of July is certainly not an ordinary day. It's a very special day. One that I have celebrated every year for each of my forty-four years. Tonight as I sat at my neighborhood park and took in all of the festivities, I remembered the moments and feelings of past Independence Day celebrations. Although these memories are quite ordinary by all accounts, the accumulation of moments in time leave a lasting impact. And they sure filled my mind and my heart as I watched the ten minute neighborhood display tonight. I will share a few...

As a child, I was allowed sparklers and snakes, but that was about it. All things big and explosive happened at my Grandparents' farm. Laying on a blanket fighting off mosquitoes is the raw memory, but all the bug bites were worth the glory of the spectacular shows put on by my uncles and brothers. I learned at an early age that all men were pyromaniacs.

Zach was scared of fireworks at age three. With a sleeping Ben in the nearby crib (the boys originally shared a room), I rubbed Zach's back as he laid on his Lion King sheets covering his head with his pillow. The neighborhood was exploding with all things Fourth of July and it was right at his bedtime. The good news (I think?) was that by age five, Zach joined the ranks of "all men" as a glorified pyromaniac. He is currently shooting up everything in sight in our neighborhood circle as I type this.

My mom made matching Fourth of July outfits for my boys all through their childhood. In our old house I would take a picture of the boys each year in the same spot in our spare bedroom (see collage of picture below...must have pulled this together pre-Grant). I love these pictures and equally loved dressing the boys in my mom's handiwork. I would often dress to match. My kids are now horrified at this past injustice.

One very hot Fourth of July in 2001, we had family in town from the East Coast. With a big party at our house, we gathered on our front lawn on blankets and pop-up chairs. It was wicked hot...hotter than today. One-year old Grant was given a sparkler as he sat on Aunt Robbie's lap. As we were watching the fireworks display and not Grant, the sparkler got too close to a blanket and started a fire. No one was hurt, but Robbie's family quilt didn't fare so well.

As the boys got older, we would spend our Fourth celebrations at a friend's lake homes. We had a CD that was burned with patriotic music and would play it on our holiday travels to the lake. I remember like yesterday listening to Zach and Ben sing along to Lee Greenwood's "I am Proud to be an American" at the top of their lungs. I can play it in my mind like yesterday and the thought still makes me choke up and brings a tear to my eye. I will always love that song.

Two years ago on the Fourth the kids were with their dad. I had flown back from visiting Garrett that same morning. I missed him terribly, wishing we were spending our holiday without kids together. We were both at our respective homes alone and it sure felt like an injustice. To keep busy and give myself a sense of serenity, I resorted to lining the shelves of my kitchen thinking I would ignore the holiday all together. Later after watching some fireworks from my front door, I noticed my dog, Harry, hiding and scared. I comforted my dog and he comforted me. I miss my dog.

Although today I did not lay out matching clothes for my boys, dress myself in red/white/blue, make a potato salad, or travel to the lake house; I enjoyed the quiet comforts of my home and my neighborhood community. And the ever reliable Zach surprised me by showing up at my empty house late in the afternoon. A bit of the heart and soul of my house came back to life with a child home. Another day, another Fourth...and I am sure I will remember my feelings as I write this when I watch the fireworks displays next year.... wherever my travels or life take me.