Oh, Say, Can WE See?

Daddy would buy a Christmas present or two. He could chow down with the best of them come Thanksgiving. And he’d dress up a little extra for Easter……but he CELEBRATED the 4th of July. He’d be herding me, Leon and David into the car for the trip to town, “Boys, we live in a great country.” That was near ’bout a soliloquy for our fairly reticent father.

He took it all in. He enjoyed the barbeque and baked beans. He’d buy extra watermelons so nobody ran short. He’d talk grown-up with Mr. Abernathy or Red Melton and then chase the little kids around the pond in the center of the square. He would tip his hat to the ladies and stand ramrod straight when the flag was presented.

He didn’t make speeches. He didn’t rave on about Washington, Valley Forge or those overbearing, haughty Redcoats. He didn’t refer to Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln or Manifest Destiny. Shucks, he didn’t even mention the three years he spent in the Pacific during World War II. I reckon some of all of that was embodied in his spirit. But he lived a fairly uncomplicated life. He had come to town to celebrate being an American.

His pride wasn’t masked, arrogant or politically “out on his sleeve”. This was his country and this was his day. He enjoyed every minute of it. Over all the years I was privileged to ride into town to celebrate the day with him he never changed, he never apologized, he never wavered.

Me, I kinda took the Fourth in phases. In the early days it was to break the monotony. I got so tired of the sameness down at the end of Stonewall. It was a welcomed interruption from watching the dogs scratch themselves. I could race Ricky across the town square. I could play on the old cannon. We would choose up teams and spit at the cracks in the sidewalk. We’d press our faces against the store front windows and pretend we had the money to buy anything we wanted……. It was a way to escape the side porch and actually live for a day!

We grew into the firecracker stage. It was a little like organized mayhem. And, if we didn’t exactly have parental permission, there was an Independence Day understanding that gave some leeway about the explosions. Me and Yogi would drop a cherry bomb in a trash can in the alley behind the Ben Franklin Store and be “innocently” loitering in front of the McCadams’ Tractor and Implement Company when the lid blew off. We would slide a bottle rocket down the barrel of the cannon and “fire” on the post office across the street. Yogi would put a roman candle in each hand and shoot them at a fleeing Janice Noles or Millicent Blackburn. We lit a whole string of those little Chinese poppers and tossed them in amongst the parade horses…… Dad found me pretty quick and thus ended my firecracker phase. We had crossed the “leeway” line.

By junior high, the food became important. Coach Rogers said I had a chance to play….but I needed to put on a hundred and twenty pounds! I loved Miss Mitchum’s fried chicken. The barbecue was the best this side of Memphis. And the coleslaw, baked beans and potato salad were common items on every table. There was jar after jar of homemade pickles. The Cokes, Pepsis and Royal Crown Colas were immersed in ice filled no. 3 washtubs. And people, the desserts stretched across three full length tables borrowed from the First Baptist Church. It was free! And it was all you could eat! I don’t reckon I paid much attention to that independence thing, except in the shuffle between the third entr￩e and the last piece of apple pie, I came to the inevitable conclusion……it was every man for himself!

The summer of my 17th year marked the girl phase. I actually put some thought into what I needed to wear this Independence Day. I combed my hair a little extra and borrowed some Old Spice from Leon. Belinda Carpenter promised she would come. Listen, she had Hollywood good looks, a beautiful smile, a loving heart and she was a big St. Louis Cardinal baseball fan. Her father was a doctor who owned quite a bit of land, including a house down on the Tennessee River. This was a match made in heaven! I didn’t care about the monotony, firecrackers, food or independence; I was on a mission this 4th of July!

The college phase was kind of a blur. I didn’t make it home for a couple of the celebrations. Then I was a newly wed and worried about making a living. I cared deeply about this nation, but I was so busy trying to establish myself. I absolutely didn’t forget….but I didn’t put my heart into it either.

Josh and Jess came along. Oh man, I wanted my boys to understand the heritage, the “blood, sweat and tears”, the sacrifice of so many…… But Dad’s generation was leaving us at a record pace. He died before I could get them back for a 4th of July ride downtown. We settled for a grape snow cone and some fireworks.

It saddens me over the years that many of the little towns have curtailed or even cut out altogether the parades, speeches and free community picnics. That’s too bad. And it may help explain why our country is torn in so many different directions these days. And I have contributed to this demise. I got so involved with my individual “phases” every 4th of July that I lost sight of the “who, why and how” of this great nation.

Daddy might not have touted those guys at Valley Forge…..but he never abandoned them.

I hope and pray that we haven’t either.

Respectfully,

Kes