Growing up, my family put our own half-hearted spin onto most holidays except Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. By half-hearted, I mean, we hardly mentioned it was even a holiday. 4th of July wasn't any different in my household, and when I think about the Independence Days of my childhood, I can remember only a handful of things.
I always enjoyed helping my Dad get out our American flag and hanging it on the house. He reserved this act for only Memorial Day and Independence Day, which made it even more special. After that, I can only remember waiting around the house, avoiding the heat while watching TV or playing games on the computer, counting down the hours until Dad grilled some burgers or hotdogs that would sum up our "celebration."
After dinner, I'd find something to do and try to catch the New York City fireworks on television. Usually, my parents were watching something like Frasier on the TV, and I'd have to beg to watch a few minutes of it. Hard to believe we only had one TV. Ok, my parents had one in their bedroom, but I could only watch it on special occasions.
When I was in high school, my parents began their own unofficial tradition of watching the Boston Pops Orchestra play patriotic music on PBS. At that age, however, I'd have rather watched paint dry.
We never went to watch fireworks, as my Dad would always not want to fight the crowds. He and Mom would always take us to see fireworks at other points of the year up at Bear Mountain, and I guess they figured that was good enough.
My parents were very against us having our own firecrackers and the like. Mostly, because when I was about 4 or 5, my Dad set off some firecrackers, and one launched itself onto a neighbor's roof in a fiery blaze of explosive glory. I can vaguely remember him scooping me up and sprinting to the house to hide, and that was the end of fireworks in our household. After that, my parents would get us a pack of sparklers every year, and my brother and I would stand in the driveway and wave them around and chase each other for a few minutes as soon as it got dark. One summer, I spent my allowance buying some fireworks from my neighbor when he got back from his vacation in Pennsylvania, where fireworks were legal. My Mom confiscated them, and years later, when I found them hidden somewhere, I lit them off when they weren't home. Sorry, Mom.
When I met my wife in college, she invited me to her family's cabin in upstate New York on our first 4th together, where the homeowners association had an annual 4th of July picnic. It became a tradition to head up there every year for a few days for the picnic and a fireworks display. I jumped through hoops every year during the airline's busy season to make sure I had off that weekend, and I only missed out on a year or two.
Like with most things, some people just have to ruin everything. As more and more people from "the city" started moving into the area, they began complaining about the noise and the safety of the evening fireworks by the lake. The gentleman who volunteered his time and money to put on a pretty spectacular display each year decided it was no longer worth the hassle. Every year after that, the picnic itself lost some magic as they added more and more rules. Due to COVID, there wasn't one last year. There won't be one this year either, as everyone is still skittish about the whole thing. I'm afraid another tradition has been lost in the name of progress.
For those of you new to this site, I grew up in upstate New York, but I've lived on Long Island for over 15 years now. I've traveled all over the country for work, and I've never seen a place like Long Island when it comes to fireworks. Every day people here feel the need to launch their own fireworks frequently and in large quantities. From Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day, not a night goes by people don't shoot off all sorts of rockets and grenades from dinner to midnight. Some are of such professional quality they even shake the house on occasion. I don't mean to sound like the curmudgeon I am coming across as, but with two little yipper dogs who both have anxiety problems and a baby that needs a peaceful night of sleep, living in the fireworks center of America is wearing thin on us.
This post sounds pretty negative, and that's not my intention. The Independence Day 4th of July holiday is about celebrating all that is America. My opinion on the direction of this country may have soured recently, but it's still the greatest place to live on earth. We should all be grateful to be here, whether we're born here or not. We should reflect on all who have gone before us that have worked hard, sacrificed, and gave everything to build this into the greatest nation on earth.
Last year, the guys at The Retro Network asked what pop culture reference makes us think about America. My answer then, as it is now, was easy:
The nighttime 4th of July baseball game from the movie "The Sandlot." When Ray Charles' rendition of "America, the Beautiful" plays, it makes me feel happy and excited for the future, melancholy for the past, proud, and patriotic all at the same time.
Please take the 3 minutes to watch the clip below. It's worth it, I promise. For whatever reason, the person who posted this video does not allow embedded viewing, so please click the link in the video or CLICK HERE TO WATCH IT ON YOUTUBE.
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