Today was not the usual July 4th for me. No family, no food, no fireworks. Just quiet. I wandered from the kitchen, to the living room, to the dining room, to the bathroom all day. Doing dishes, cleaning, watching TV, and lurking around the net all day. No husband, no son, no daughters, no grandchildren. Just me and God for most of the day. I'd like to say I spent it enjoying the quiet - but I didn't. I just kind of wandered around the house. Strange. It was just strange.
The July 4ths of my childhood days were a holiday that my family enjoyed. I recall cookouts, fireworks, mom and dad sitting outside in their lawn chairs, and the garden hose close by for anything we might accidentally light on fire. Dad was always careful - he taught us many valuable lessons about being safe.
Safety wasn't exactly my thing - this comes from a girl who managed to get stitches 3 times. It would have been 4, but I learned that if you cry crocodile tears at dad and mom isn't home then you can get out of it. It's funny the things I can recall so clearly. I remember being mad at dad because I had to stop my fun and go inside and fill his glass of tea. I stomped up the steps, only in my anger, I managed to miss one and down I went with his glass. It broke and cut my forehead in two places. I knew when it didn't stop bleeding that I was in for stitches. I also knew that because it was my head that meant I wasn't getting anything to numb it from the time before when I got stitches. I cried and begged. Then I begged some more. Dad just kept pressure on it and bandaged me up. No stitches - whew !
I remember the July 4th when a tiny little rocket - no bigger than my pinkie - set the pasture on fire. We filled buckets with a hose - my brother climbed the fence - my dad passed buckets and we managed to put the fire out. There were no more tiny rockets that went flying from our collection of fireworks after that.
July 4th seemed to be the one holiday that we got to stay home - no traveling to relatives houses to celebrate. We lived in corn country - Nebraska - and all of our relatives were at least a state away. Other holidays we traveled but I don't recall doing that for this holiday. Mom and Dad would sit in their lawn chairs and my brother and I would light what night works we could manage to save for the event. My brother loved all the pop and bang ones. I preferred the pretty ones. I may have been quite the tomboy - never met a tree I didn't climb - but I was still a girl. The higher the fountain - the better ! Not only that but it had been my experience that pop and bang fireworks placed in a metal trashcan could go off too quickly and cause one to not hear so well. Of course, I didn't tell anyone because that would mean a trip to the doctor. For whatever reason, I was scared to death of the doctor. Doctors meant needles and needles meant ouch for me. I wonder if my mom ever realized just how frightened I was ?
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