Independence Day

Independence Day was pure sunny fun when I was growing up. A few days before the Fourth of July, my family attached two small American flags to the posts flanking the gate in the white board fence surrounding our yard. We wrapped red-white-and-blue crepe paper around the four cylindrical wooden posts of the front porch. On the day itself, we gathered sticks, started a fire, roasted hot dogs, and toasted marshmallows.

Fox Terrier Named Spot and I Celebrating Fourth of July in the 1960s

The big event, though, was in the evening. My mother loaded the 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air with a basket of cheese sandwiches, a jug of orange juice, a thermos of tomato soup, and another thermos of coffee. We were off to the fireworks in Fowler, Indiana! Almost always, my father gently nosed the car into the weeds along a gravel road just south of the park where the fireworks were displayed. We spread blankets beside the Chevrolet, which was tilted toward the ditch, and sat together as a family. We enjoyed our supper, just as other families were enjoying theirs up and down the country road.

In about 1966, my father poured a cup of coffee from a thermos and handed the cup to my mother. I commented on the pleasant aroma. My mother asked my father, “Are you going to let Robert taste yours?” “I don’t know. Am I?” my father asked in return. “I think he’s old enough,” my mother replied. My father poured a small amount into his clean cup and handed it to me, and, from that Independence Day onward, I have enjoyed coffee.

As darkness fell, we watched for pink lights, which were the wands the volunteer firemen carried to light the fireworks. In the gathering haze of a hot summer’s night, the pink lights began to fan out mysteriously. Then, with the sound of the air being punched, a nearly invisible rocket slithered up and up. Suddenly, a giant flower of light bloomed overhead! What satisfaction!

We oohed and ahed, comparing colors and effects to choose our favorites. At our distance from the park and from our vantage point behind the show, we could not always discern what the displays on the ground were intended to be, but the waterfall was always obvious and always appreciated for its dazzling white, its smoke drifting to one side, and its noise not unlike a cascade.

While fireworks displays, like so many other forms of entertainment, have become increasingly dazzling since those days when I was growing up, the displays back then were as thrilling as anyone could have wished! The finale was grand enough with several bursts of brilliant color occurring in rapid succession in the night sky.

As we drove back home, our joyful thoughts centered on how proud we were to be Americans.