The Rocket's Red Glare

To know me is to know I'm afraid of fireworks. I've always been sick to my stomach terrified of them, and yet perversely drawn to them.

I'm a grown up now and fear is still there, but the capital F is gone from it. Last night as I waited for the fireworks to begin I felt pensive and maybe a little contemplative.

And as I was lying on my blanket amid the excitement of the children and the general tolerance of the parents and the whatever other emotions were hanging in the air around me, and as I was contemplating my pensive mood I thought, "You know, this is the way I should be feeling tonight. These fireworks are supposed to symbolize the bombs bursting in air, the light from which showed Francis Scott Key that the American Flag was still flying through the battle at Fort McHenry. I'm supposed to be feeling sad and grateful and humbled that so many have had to die to ensure freedom for me and for my family."

All we have of freedom, all we use or know - This our fathers bought for us
long and long ago.~Rudyard Kipling, The Old Issue, 1899

"And so you see," I said to myself, "you are right on the mark. You are patriotic and sympathetic and an all around top-notch person."

At least that's what I told myself. Probably what really happened was that I was ascared of the fireworks and I didn't get invited to the family BBQ and family BBQs, as we all know, are the real reason for the 4th of July.

I think patriotism is like charity -- it begins at home.
Henry
James