…you know…that fireworks celebration before Katie’s birthday. Let me explain. We were a resident Park Family for well over a decade; during that decade, both boys were born and all 3 moved into elementary school before we left. We were nestled among the loblolly pines and beach plums, a part of the Nature around us.
Until summer. That park had a beach…and the Atlantic Ocean. And, tourists…lots and lots of tourists. From Memorial Day until Labor Day, my friend Pam and I called ourselves Park Widows, holding it together while our men were in-country. As my Kate was born on July 8th, the never-ending poke-at-Dad was/still is that he missed most of her birthdays. And, the children were never able to see fireworks on the birthday of our country either. True? Of course not…that’s how family histories work. But some things hold true. Even now, Jim will pause at some point during the 4th and say, “I wonder if the lifeguards showed up,” or “Late afternoon…the bathhouse is a wreck.” Then, look at me and grin. “Not my problem!”
Now, we do all of those U.S.A. things tied to the day: water play, outdoor games, sidewalk art and a cookout. Just no fireworks. We’re content at home. Sorry, kids. You can drive yourself.