Unexpectedly, it pounces on me with the pop and crackle of fireworks and the dusty smell of phosphorus the last week in June. New Old Glories wave in the breeze from businesses and car windows. Buntings and variations of stars and stripes dangle from apartment balconies and dress up front porches. People seem to have a little more bounce in their step and I can be caught humming bars from John Philip Sousa or Francis Scott Key at any time.
When I was little, my dad always used to tell me that the fireworks were all for me. We'd sit in lawn chairs at my grandmother's house, sipping soda through straws, watching the neighbors put on fantastic displays of colored lights. The air grew thick with the smell I associated with birthday cake and, incidentally, our nation's freedom. I was crushed to learn in school that the fireworks were actually for the birth of America, not me, and that the displays had gone on for exactly 199 years before I was even thought of. But not all the magic was lost; I still pretend they are for me. *hmmph*
Even with all the excitement, we never went anywhere else for the Fourth. I never knew of parades winding through the streets of town. Never saw a community block party. Never stood on the curb catching candy, wearing red, white and blue while waving a flag at the fire engines. Never clapped for the local high school marching bands. We didn't go downtown where all the action took place. There were murderers and thugs and "bad people" there. I never knew what I was missing until I was married with kids of my own. And we finally discovered small-town America's Independence Day Celebrations.
Classic cars decked out in their finest, polished to literally glow in the summer sunshine. Marching bands with their fancy flag corps routines and the tuba line doing a kick step as they marched and played "Yankee Doodle." My kiddies sitting on the curb, clapping their hands in time with the music, nudging each other and saying, "Hey I know this song!!!" Fire engines, lights ablaze, with their families seated on the back of the truck, waving their flags to their friends in the streets. Boy and Girl Scouts tossing patriotic Tootsie Rolls and fake Americana tattoos and carrying their troop flags alongside Old Glory herself. Legions of American Legions displaying the progression of our flag from her days of thirteen prim stars in a circle on a field of blue liberty, all the way through the brilliantly billowing banner of today. Kilted bagpipers, fife players sporting tri-corner hats, social organizations, drama troops, dance companies….please excuse my excitement; this is all new to me.
And so the end of the parade trailed into early afternoon, when we went home for a picnic lunch and some swimming. Our plans were far from over because we still had to wait for nightfall before my favorite part began. We planned to attend the local carnival before the show, and those plans were dashed with the phrase, "the tornado watch remains in effect until 10:30 tonight…" My mid-western nose and I ran outside and sniffed the air. It was damp. Yes it would rain, but the light breeze didn't have that certain indescribable smell of danger. The sky was foreboding, but not the classic green tint that signals funnels dropping from the heavens. My nose and I decided we were safe. So we put doggie into her crate with soothing music and a running fan to dampen the terrifying booms that would be heard in the near future. We packed umbrellas and the Neat Sheet™, and left the house in a soaking rain. Halfway there (less than 5 minutes down the road, that is) the sun warily poked a few fingerholes in the clouds, giving a truly awesome sight of golden sun in a driving rain. By the time we paid the Boy Scouts for the use of their church parking lot, the rain had stopped and we fairly skipped the whole four blocks to the show. I secured a spot in view of the field and watched kiddies play on the school playground equipment. Every pattern of our nation's colors was visible in a crowd clutching beach towels, bedspreads, garbage bags and umbrellas under threat of more rain. Giggling children smelling of bug spray and cotton candy frolicked barefoot in the damp grass, waving sparklers. The live band played in the secured stage, making announcements for the event organizers. While huddling under five umbrellas, eating funnel cakes and snowballs, the band stated that the show would begin early because a storm cell was headed right for us. As if to confirm that, Mother Nature grumbled warily to our southwest. The display began in a hurry.
It was still light and we could make out the forms of the pyrotechnicians scurrying to simply set fire to the night before the rain hit. The result was loud, unorganized, brighter than daylight, and fantastic. I have never seen so many large-scale fireworks go off that close together and it was as scary as it was fun. The booms shook in my chest and drowned out the delighted screams of the kids. The thirty minute show was chopped to almost twenty minutes and as the last burst of color and sonic booms died away, down came the rain. Lightning flashed and thunder followed close on its heels as we gathered our shoes and umbrellas and made our escape under buckets emptying themselves from the sky upon the crowd.
In a sea of running people and umbrellas, I knew the kids would have trouble staying together. Mama Duck took the lead, holding tightly to the closure strap on the littlest little's umbrella and they all stair-stepped up to Daddy. "Keep your eyes on your siblings' shoes in front of you and DON'T BREAK THIS LINE!!" I ordered. The police shut down all traffic and believe it or not, everyone respected our little umbrella train. No one broke through the middle; in fact, most people hung just behind me as if I was the cow-catcher of this express or something. For some reason it made me feel tall. We made it to our car as the rain began to taper off a bit, but as we opened the car doors, the floodgates opened once more. We managed to find a back street that led in the direction of our home, but away from the police- and traffic-jammed streets. Laughing, soaked through the skin all the way to our bones and happy, we slopped out of the car and into our house, filling the bathtub with sopping clothes, shoes and umbrellas; home again. After toweling heads and tucking excited kiddies into beds, we crashed onto the couch in dry, clean pajamas and said, simultaneously, "Well, that was fun!"
I love the Fourth.
a slide show to accompany my story is right here.
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