A Fresh Fourth
For more than thirty-five years, my family and I spent the birthday of our nation on my mother-in-law’s back porch. We missed parades, ball games, Zambelli fireworks, you name it. Why? Because Mary, like the dear old nephew of our Uncle Sam, was born on the Fourth of July.
That doesn’t mean that these gatherings weren’t festive and patriotic. They were both. Lots of bunting. Little flags in the flower pots. Kids standing on the picnic table with sparklers. Extended family always there. Two meals. They were great but I always wondered, “What would it be like going down to the Point and watching the Zambelli show?”
Well, it was inevitable that I’d get that opportunity. Sadly, but predictably, Mary passed away after ninety-eight years this past January. There is no way to recreate those decades of backyard, joint birthday parties. So, we did something different. We went to visit our kids in California.
And while we were clearly missing Mary, we had a great few days. My son-in-law’s birthday is around that time and we went to a very fine dinner and an excellent ice cream cake. On the Fourth itself, we ended the day at the community fireworks display complete with Mrs. Robinson, a pretty solid classic rock band—think Nugent, Zeppelin—and kids running every where squirting silly string on anything that moved.
But we started the day by marching in the Fourth of July parade.
Load up the bike. Load up the family. Find a parking space. Walk to the parking lot. Zipping kids in rendezvous lot. Coffee. LA Donuts. Decorated dogs panting. Quentin Tarantino’s wedding photographer takes a picture for us. Really? Yeah. LA, baby. Uncle Sam. On stilts. “Can I take your picture? Wait. Wait. Wait. Shade at a premium. “You from Pittsburgh?” Wait some more. Four fire trucks. Four golf carts. Kids bikes. Boy scout troops. Everything red, white and blue. Streamers. Bag pipes. Follow Uncle Sam. March, march, march. Hot, hot, hot. Find the shade. Arrive. Bouncy houses, bouncy slides. Highschoolkidnationalanthem. Songs. American Girl. American Woman. R-o-c-k. My hands up. Playing my song. May I have your attention, please. How to retire Old Glory. Taps. Thanks for coming. God bless America. A free popsicle. Find the car.
It was great but a lot. And certainly, very different than our backyard birthdays back in Clairton. Which were also great but a lot. But honestly, one of the best experiences I had on this Fresh Fourth was this.
As we were walking the parade route, probably halfway through, in the hot sun, after the long wait, there was a five-year-old girl, just ahead of us, long black hair, red, white and blue clips, red sun dress, skipping along, merrily singing, “Every day is a wonderful day. Every day is a wonderful day. Everyday is a wonderful day.” How simple. How poignant. How apropos. So, right. So optimistic. Shouldn’t that be how we all feel on the Fourth?
As we begin our nation’s two-hundred and fiftieth year, let’s hope and pray we can all approach the next July in this fresh, Fourth way. With the eyes of a child. Because, in the end, all days are wonderful days.
Show A Little Faith.