My family always loved Independence Day.

When I was growing up, it was a tradition to don red,

white and blue outfits and picnic with friends and family.

The day was full of fun but the night was the best part.

As soon as the sun went down, we’d head for Walton Lake,

to watch the fireworks!

Walton Lake was just a few miles from our home and was

a private summer place for families who liked to fish, swim

and picnic. Around the small lake stood rows of summer

cottages who’s inhabitance liked to move in for the duration

of the warm weather. Our family owned such a cottage for a

period of time before I was born and until I was about

two years old.

Though the cottage days were behind us as I grew up,

we still maintained our membership and visited during
the long hot days to swim and fish like many other families,

but the spectacular display of fireworks on the Fourth of

July was particularly special.

I, apparently, in my very young childhood was not such a

big fan of the thunderous booms from the aerial displays.

I would cry hysterically at the noise every time,

so my grandfather used to take me into a near by cottage

owned by a friend so I could see the huge colorful fiery

bursts through their big lake side windows,

sans the deafening noise.

My mother used to say, “It’s only

noise honey, it won’t hurt you, big girls don’t cry.” But

cry I did, and watch from a neighboring cottage, we did!

As I became more mature, I learned to like the noise as much as

the displays. The fireworks over the lake were simply

delicious! They reflected in the water and the sound crackled

and boomed, echoed in the lake and resounded for several moments

after each shoot.

We played with sparklers, and metal toys that with

a push of the thumb, would spin and make little harmless sparks

in a burst of color.

Of course, back then, my dad always had a few firecrackers

of his own. He would light them, throw them and we’d delight

as they burst on the ground.

One particular Fourth of July weekend, my dad and a friend of his

found out first hand that firecrackers and beer probably are not

the best of mixes.

We were visiting some friends around the corner from our house

for a picnic. My dad and his friend Paul, were setting off firecrackers

in the side yard that evening, and apparently the more beer that

was consumed, the more firecrackers they set off. They were also

finding more and more imagination in the way they were setting them

off and the neighbors were becoming annoyed.

Finally the police made an appearance to let Dad and Paul know

that a city ordinance forbade them from setting off firecrackers

in the city limits and that they should refrain from doing so in the

yard.

They talked with the patrolman for a few minutes and agreed to comply

but it is told that as the officer walked away, Paul set off a cherry bomb

and when the policeman turned toward them again, Dad held up a beer

and said, “what’s your hurry, sit down and have a beer!”

They were not arrested that day, though they were given stern words

to indicate that any further infractions would possibly result in

their incarceration.

Promising to behave, Dad and Paul waved sheepishly at the policeman

as he drove away. I can remember my mother’s face to this day

when as the patrol car had barely turned the corner, Dad and Paul

simultaneously set off an entire string of small firecrackers while they

laughed hysterically.

Now that I am grown up and have kids and grandkids of my own,

the Fourth of July is still one of my very favorite holidays and holds

so many fond memories. It is impossible to watch a fireworks display

without thinking of my grandpa and all the fun we had at the lake.

I still find myself in tears from time to time at the fireworks we now

attend at our fairgrounds. My tears are tears of fond remembrance

and a sense of patriotism instilled in me from my day of birth by

parents and grandparents who loved our flag and served our country

well by being responsible citizens.

We have the firecracker problem solved, Dad has given up that tradition

so the only thing with which we now contend, is trying to explain why

July 4^th cannot become a “Monday Holiday”, to my mother, who in all

her wisdom is convinced it can and should be done.

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