It’s the most exciting time of the year, y’all!
Yes, the fourth is with us. July fourth, that is. The time when we get to spurt whipped cream straight into our mouths, right out the can, while we lovingly layer the berries in our red, white and blue trifles. Plans have been made. Beach towels are fluffed, packed and unpacked. Deep coolers are filled with ice and stocked full. The flags go up. The patriotism is shared and real. The unity of “us” is deeply felt. We on this day, especially, are one. Then there are the little things. The things that make it that much “realer.”
Family ascends, personalities abound. Sunburns and scrabble games run hot and family is...well, family. Some of the most important lessons that I have learned have happened when every single one of us is stockpiled together over the fourth with nowhere else to go. It’s a small street. A cul-de-sac of life, per se. It goes around and around, but there’s no exit. You have no choice but to sit down at the dreaded picnic table, right smack down in the uncomfortable middle, break the bread and get over yourself.
For those of you who don’t know me, I grew up in Augusta, GA. For my whole life, until recently, fireworks were outlawed in Georgia. Lighting a Roman candle, just for fun, needed prior vetting and permission that would still not allow you access to outer space. The spontaneity, okay, yes, the danger, the joy, and the jacked-up excitement of it all was thought to need a certain amount of control and legislation. Cool heads prevail, I guess?
I’m not so sure. One of the “perks” of growing up in Augusta was that you could drive five minutes across the Savannah River and buy copious amounts of potassium nitrate and sulfur encapsulated into a tight tube. Then all you needed to do was light a match and have a lot of fun in your driveway.
As children we believed that fireworks were the equivalent of life itself. If we could make something small and simple explode all over the sky, well then, the sky IS NOT the limit. It’s simply only the beginning. It’s just the starting point to something scary, but still something worth starting FROM, nevertheless.
The essence of fire created a viable and productive, yet highly temperamental earth that powers through even today. We forget sometimes the stillness, the time when life was quiet and so very unassuming. But then we celebrate the innovation, the bigness, the child-like wonder of our progress and finding ways to relate to one another.
The very thing I love about sitting or standing and watching, setting off, and enjoying this pyrotechnic phenomenon is that it’s truly one of the purest ways we can all relate, no matter our age, religion, race or gender. It’s the absolute awe. The wow. The wonder.
When you watch fireworks explode for the first time, it’s can be unsettling. Uncomfortable. Loud. The noise, the sheer power, the BANG of it all. It can be dangerous if directed in the wrong way. Your heart races and the adrenaline flows to the point that you put your hands over your ears. You may even look away. But, still, you cannot. Because then comes THE AWE! That’s the unexpected payoff. It’s the something you didn’t even know you were looking for. The wonder you feel when facing the very thing that scared you in the first place. And that – the moment that follows the work, the noise, and the scary parts – is when you can finally look up and see the good stuff.
It’s the explosion of pure joy, togetherness, family, community, and unity, that comes despite annoying traffic, cranky kids, disagreements, fatigue, and the “hangry”-ness and weariness which plagues us all at the end of a long, crazy day. That moment will always make the rest fade away like magic. And it too is gone just as fast. So just remember to look up.
Happy Fourth, everyone. Much Love. Mean it.
