I’ve always loved the Fourth of July.There’s just something about the smell of summer in the air – steaks on the grill, hot pavement and freshly mowed grass. As a child, I loved to watch the heat lightning flash across the dark as I rode to town in the back of my daddy’s burgundy pickup truck to watch the fireworks with my cousins and friends.
I loved the sizzling sound they made as they rocketed upward and blossomed in the night sky.
On morning of the Fourth, my family looked forward to a long day of "doing nothing" followed by a night of fun, friends and fireworks.
We ate waffles, made Oreo cookie cake to share at the evening’s cookout and splashed in the kiddie pool. (Even the dog was not exempt.)
We watched my husband and his cousin put up a swing in our (very tall) tree, played with neighborhood kids and rode bikes, tricycles, scooters and power wheels (powered mainly by feet.)
Just before noon, sweet lilting notes came floating through the air across the neighborhood streets. Wonder of wonders! It was the ICE CREAM TRUCK!
After seeing the mixed look of joy, panic, hopefulness and frenzy on the kids’ faces, I broke the cardinal “no ice cream before lunch rule” and told Sadie to grab $4 from the jar on my dresser.She came back like a flash, slamming the door and waving a fistful of dollars in the air, yelling, “I didn’t have time to count so I just grabbed it all!”
As if they were following the Pied Piper, the kids headed to the curb to pick out an ice cream (I made them choose from the $1 menu.)
We ended up with a watermelon popsicle, a bubblegum pop, a cotton candy freeze and one Bomb Pop. The girls were thrilled with their unexpected frozen treats, and I was thrilled because you just can’t get much more American than the ice cream truck on the Fourth of July.
We took turns flying through the air on the new swing. Between squeals and shrieks of delight, we could hear the pop-pop-pops in the distance of someone down the street getting a head start with their firecrackers.
We ate hotdogs and marshmallows roasted over our new and improved fire pit. We spent the evening with friends, new and old. We caught lightning bugs, squirted the water hose and went barefoot. We whirled with sparklers and caught the little parachute guys that fell from the exploding fireworks above us.
We flew our flags and wore red, white and blue.
When my girls said their prayers that night, they gave thanks that we live in America. Without any prompting from me, they bowed their little heads and gave thanks that we are free.The law may not allow my kids to ride in the back of a pickup truck the way I used to, but I think they will still grow up to love the Fourth of July.
-From my article on July 10, 2011 for www.mentorpatch.com
