July 5, 2010
It’s always the day after that you realize what just happened, especially if it’s the day after the Fourth Of July.
Do you suppose that our founding fathers felt a bit like I feel today – What did I just commit to?
Of course, I did not break ties with a despotic ruler, nor did I commit to paper the ways in which I would govern myself. Instead, I only over ate and went to bed too late. A high price to pay, I think, for a holiday that goes out with a bang, literally.
I’ve heard the Fourth of July described as Christmas with fireworks. I’ve always just thought the holiday was an excuse to eat lots of hot dogs, potato chips and chocolate chip cookies. And I surely don’t really need an excuse to do that.
So, though it’s not my favorite holiday, I have had some memorable experiences related to the Fourth, and here they are.
When I was in tenth grade I was at the river in Blythe with a church group. The youth pastor of the group took a group of eight of us out to the dirt fields, no flammable or combustible materials any where near, and set off fireworks. Then he began throwing them at us. Of course we ran. The fields on either side of the dirt road had recently been plowed so I mostly stumbled in the dark, with a flash of light too close to my feet lighting my path every few minutes. I’m not sure if the point was for us to get a taste of what hell might be like, or for us to learn to walk, I mean run, by faith though the path may be plowed and dusty and dark.
When I was life guarding at the local lake and water slide (okay, I was only a water slide attendant, but lifeguard better suits the American lexicon), we got to stay after and watch the fireworks for free. Did I mention these lakes were surrounded by dry, flammable, combustible fields and there were fire trucks stationed all around. I spent the entire show watching all the sparks die out only a few feet from touching down and starting a massive wildfire that would have forced everyone at the local lake into the local lake to survive. By the way, if you think I was overreacting, there was a fire. Yes, it was put out quickly, but still!
When my son was eight, he got into a water fight with a girl who told on him to her dad who insisted my cherub apologize. Cherub refused, so I did what any good, respectable parent would do, I threatened him.
“If you don’t apologize, we’ll have to leave the party now.”
And he did what any spawn of me would do, shrugged his shoulders and walked out to the car.
This year was rather uneventful, except for the 16 chocolate covered strawberries and the four brownies I ate. I did get to see good friends whose children no longer play soccer with my cherub because they are all away at college and my cherub is running cross country and track, and I stuck my cold feet in a hot jacuzzi while being amazed at the fireworks, and how lucky I am, we are, to live in a country where when you see bright flashes and hear big booms, it is only a celebration.
This week, I will celebrate living in a country that is good, but can always get better.
