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Growing up, my favorite holiday
by far was the Fourth of July. There was no close second – not even
Christmas or my birthday.
I didn’t put presents at the
top of my list of ways to rate a holiday. No, what I loved so much about
the Fourth of July was the all-day, family oriented, traditional
small-town celebration, complete with parade and fireworks.
The house where I grew up (and
where my parents still live) is perfectly situated on Main Street right on
the parade route and the covered porch provides the best view, shade
included.
As a child, teenager and young
adult, I marched in more parades than I watched, carrying the banner for
the fire department with my father marching behind me, twirling a baton
with a recreational twirling class, leading cheers with a pop warner
cheerleading team and even playing my clarinet with fellow Rutgers
marching band members.
Whether marching or watching,
everyone heads down to the park, the final destination of the parade. Free
hot dogs and birch beer are the traditional quick lunch. Kids play on the
playground and adults catch up with each other while keeping a watchful
eye on their little ones. Teenagers mingle and just hang out.
My parents’ neighbors (one of
my many “aunts” and uncles” in the town) always have a seemingly endless
feast, available all afternoon and evening. Last year was the first
without our beloved Aunt Jean, but Uncle Johnny kept up the mealtime
tradition with the help of his children.
The day always ends with a
fireworks display, easily viewed from my parents’ back yard, although a
few of the low-flying fireworks are now hidden behind trees that have
grown many feet since I was a child.
I can count on one hand the
number of hometown Fourth of July celebrations I’ve missed in my life and
it is now a family affair, with my husband and daughters joining me every
year. My girls seem to look forward to it as much as I always did and they
definitely have their own favorite parts of the day.
My father, still a member of
the fire department, now drives a fire truck more often than he marches.
Much to my girls’ delight, he creates a very special moment for them each
year.
According to them, “Pop-Pop
stops the whole parade so we can come to his fire truck and give him a
high five!”. He actually does stop the fire engine (and all parade
participants behind him) so that we can walk into the street to greet him.
Now I am the adult looking on
as my kids watch the parade and excitedly get to eat a hot dog, drink soda
(a rare treat) and play at the park with the whole town milling around
them. I am the one helping them fill their plate to the brim with
delicious picnic food and listening to them countdown the hours until the
fireworks. They are oohing and aahing just like I did (and, actually,
still do sometimes!) and claiming that each consecutive colorful display
is their favorite.
As I watch my girls wave their
little flags, drink their soda and see the reflection of the fireworks in
their awe-struck eyes, I can’t help but feel lucky to have grown up in a
small town with a big heart.
There is a saying that you
can’t go home again. I thank God that, in my case, that isn’t true. I feel
more peaceful and relaxed than I do for most of the year when I go “home”
on the Fourth of July and get to see my most cherished holiday memories
continue and live on in my own children.
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