Is what we really love about summer simply the comforting familiarity of it all? The return to simple pleasures we enjoyed as children? This past weekend was probably the best Fourth of July holiday I’ve ever had. I didn’t get on a plane. I didn’t have occasion to wear anything fancier than a bathing suit and elastic-waisted shorts. But, oh, it was beautiful in its simplicity.
Charred hot dogs and grill-marked chicken tenders. Creamy potato salad. Fuel for fireworks watching. Perched atop a grassy hill, vantage point close enough to see, far enough to feel removed. Crisp, cold white wine for them, ice-cold water for me. Old blankets and a pair of beach chairs. Fireworks over the sky. Sparklers in the distance, lighting up the beach.
This year’s holiday was significant for Mike and me because it’s our last ‘Independence’ day, our last July 4th holiday completely independent of responsibility for another human being. Next year at this time we’ll have a six-month old to take care of. We won’t be able to decide on a whim not to come home one night because we’ve been up too late, are too tired, and don’t feel like driving back home. We won’t be able to laugh giddily while we set off obnoxiously loud fireworks that only belong in the hands of trained pyrotechnicians. Uhh, not that we would do that anyway. We ARE going to be parents after all! Lighting obnoxiously loud, completely illegal fireworks would be downright irresponsible. Grounds to get your parent card taken away!
Choppy water, gusting wind. Zipped up hoodie, protection from the chill. Motor churning, water spray. Sailboats dotted across the horizon. Outdoor dining, frozen drinks. Bags upon bags of potato chips. Smoke from the grill, smoke from cigars, smoke from fireworks. More potato salad. Badminton. Horseshoes. Barefoot in the grass. Cracks, pops, BOOM!
Maybe not next year, but the year after that, and the year after that, and the year after that we’ll slowly instill our favorite July 4th traditions in our child. We’ll let him (or her) take off his shoes and run barefoot in the grass. We’ll teach him the undeniable superiority of chicken on the grill vs. chicken in the oven. We’ll show him the fine art of drawing on his hot dog with ketchup and mustard. Mike will show him how to set off fireworks. Sparklers at first. There’ll be plenty of time for the obnoxiously illegal ones in his teenage years.
