Thinking back on Fourths of July. I remember where I was on Fourths better
than any other day of the year (for years afterward, that is). Fourths are
distinctly eventful. The older I get, the less I like the celebrations though. Anti-patriotic?
Nah. Celebratorily ambivalent when it comes to fireworks on the Fourth. Bombs
bursting in air, cinders raining down, the dulled out masses of cricked necks
turned skyward, a hypnotic oohing and aahing to exploding light.
It’s not the holiday; it’s the cliched fireworks shows. I just can’t get into
them (beyond wow, that was something). But I probably sound like a crank.
I keep going to them, anxiously watching for the bigger blast than last year and
the extension of the show just when you thought it was over. Past Fourths:
I’ve starred them all on this quikmap:
Flashes, memories of 4th of July and place:
Late 1970’s: My grandparents’ drive-way on Drummond Island. Safe-works, all
sparklers and snakes. Grand finale: something tank-shaped that spun and popped.
The flowing goo of writhing carbon snakes: wow, that was something. I was
into the sparklers, too. Two at a time to keep it dangerous.
1984: Independence, Mo. My brother and I were staying in the duplex where my
aunt and uncle lived. Only they were gone to Denver, so our grandmother was
watching us. The entire complex of apartments was crawling with kids, the
grounds ascramble with bottle rocket battles. Only we weren’t allowed out past
dark. Too risky. Grandma was a worrier. I think I remember that we tried her
nerved by staying out past the first edge of evening. And then paid dearly for
it. Still, my aunt and uncle brought back giant jawbreakers from their short
trip to Colorado.
A year later? Or two. This time with another aunt. We left Lansing, Mich. and
traveled through the night toward Kansas City. I was eleven or twelve. I watched
out the car window (a Chevette, I think) for all of the fireworks shows between
Lansing and Indianapolis. And then I fell asleep. I was supposed to stay awake,
help her stay awake (changing radio stations, chattering on about how scenic
south-central Illinois was). When I woke up on the Fifth, we were just leaving
St. Louis. The I-70 corridor was a fireworks paradise with bright yellow tents
parked at every exit for 270 miles.
1996: Saginaw Bay, Mich. I’d just taken my first job after undergrad, moved
from KC to Saginaw, and was handling claims for damaged property following a
wall of tornados from Frankenmuth to Bay City. A small cooler of beer, a
cookout. Good friends who I don’t keep in touch with any longer.
My favorite 4ths were during the summers when I was a preteen and we’d visit a friend who lived across the street from the unfinished National Cathedral. My brother and I would take popsicles, sit on the roof and watch the firecracker show beyond the cathedral, on the Mall.
Popsicles on the fourth always add a little something. We didn’t end up seeing many last night. Went to the house of one of D.’s colleagues for a cookout and then decided not to brave the traffic at the fairgrounds. There were just four shows in the immediate vicinity of Syracuse last night. I suppose some of them lit off the fireworks over the weekend.