Happy Birthday, America
Maybe I’m un-American, but I do not love fireworks. Apparently, this is the preferred way to celebrate our country’s independence. Loud, sparkly, dangerous, and fleeting, somewhat like America’s current political landscape. It was hard for me to rejoice in the American Way since being bombarded with hateful, ignorant speech and actions from the people we trust to keep the ideology of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness alive. I knew political parties cared about their money but I didn’t used to view them as people who wanted other people to fail. Being selfish was OK with me, but being cruel was not.
But, when my 82-year-old Mother wanted to see some fireworks on the 4th of July, I felt guilty. My disdain for fireworks should not keep my Mom from experiencing some visual joy. So, we hopped in the car at 9:15 p.m. and drove north toward downtown. On the way, we passed an intersection with six police cars and a perimeter of yellow tape. Mom asked if they only put up yellow tape if someone died. I assumed so. We kept on.
We parked just south of downtown in a vacant parking lot to watch the show — the lot filled with people, most with young children. I nervously watched the adults setting off their fireworks just feet from the kids. I had visions of their fireworks taking an unexpected turn, flying into my open windows, and catching my Mom’s hair on fire. That did not happen. But it could have. We witnessed a wholesome family interaction where the pre-teen boy declared that his sister “makes me want to kill myself.”
Me: When can we go home? It’s hot. My pretzels and water are gone.
Mom: You are no fun. You are going to be a hermit when you get older.
Me: I will be a happy hermit.
Mom: Boy, tonight would be a good night to shoot someone. You can’t tell the difference between these fireworks and gunshots.
Me: Mom! You are right. I hope no one is taking advantage of that.
It was finally dark at 10 p.m. and Mom and I argued over which direction to look for the big city display. We saw three different possibilities. None seemed impressive or high enough to be the official fireworks show. We cocked our heads up to look in every direction. We waited for the show. It got to be 10:30 p.m. and cars began to leave the lot.
Me: Did we miss it? Where was the show?
Mom: I never knew where to look. Maybe it was canceled?
Me: Canceled? No. It must have happened, but I don’t think we could see it. Can we go home now?
Mom: Yes, dear. Thanks for taking me out to see a show we couldn’t see.
Me: It was an unforgettable night.
At that, we both burst out laughing. Mom is one of the few people who can make me laugh when I want to be angry. Our love gives me hope for the future of America. If everyone had their Mother’s love, we would all be kinder to one another. On our way home, Mom lamented that she forgot to check the intersection where we saw police cars and crime tape on our way to the show. I asked her if she was hoping to see a dead body. Happy Birthday, America.
