Baby, You’re a Firework

My little firecracker

     July Fourth has always been special to me. I wasn’t exactly born on the fourth of July, but I was born on June 30th and in those days mother’s weren’t sent home from the hospital the next day because their insurance didn’t cover extended stays. So my first Fourth of July was spent in the nursery of the Whidden Memorial Hospital in Everett. At least there was a view of the fireworks from high on the hospital hill.

     Growing up, my family’s fourth of July celebrations were held at my Aunt Agnes’ house on Mount Washington street, also in Everett. She had the best backyard and the best view of fireworks from all of the surrounding towns. Mount Washington Street was aptly named because of the panoramic view. We always went to my aunt's house right after the parade that marched up Broadway. Parades in those days were real parades, with tons of floats, clowns, marching bands and waving veterans, beauty queens, politicians and celebrities. I never wanted the short termed helium balloon. I always asked for a pop-gun or, my favorite, a monkey on a stick. To each his own.

     One fourth of July parade, all of us kids got to pose for pictures with Batman and Robin. Yes, the real Batman and Robin (at least we thought so). One other year, the Wild Man of Borneo broke free from his cage by bending the bars and made a beeline toward me as I screamed in terror and tried to flee. No one told me it was my Uncle Gordon in costume. I was scarred for life and to this day I cannot be around Wild Men from Borneo.

     When I was a teenager in 1976, the country celebrated its 200 year Bicentennial celebration. Unfortunately, punk rock was all the rage with the drama club crowd so we all wore black jeans and t shirts in some form of protest against big business taking over the country. We were ahead of our time. And young and naive at the time, or maybe we were ahead of our time.

When my own children were born, I enjoyed the fourth of July celebrations immensely. Especially the year the Fred Flintstone Macy’s type balloon made it into the fourth of July parade and then proceeded to fly out of control and careen into the crowd, causing people to drop their Richie’s Slush onto the hot pavement and run for cover. Ahh, memories.

     When my children were older, celebrating the fourth of July became more low key. Parades and barbecues came and went. The Fourth of July afternoon was spent in Grandma and Grandpa’s pool, or at Aunt Susan and Uncle Bobby’s in Abington (the other side of the world). And now that time has passed too with the passing of Grandma and Grandpa.

     I’m the Grandpa now. And I have lots of new Fourth of July memories to share with my extended family and my new granddaughter Eliana. I hope there is a lifetime of parades and barbecues still to come, with just as many memories for her as there is for me. Happy Birthday America!