fireworks

I've been in New York for most of my 4th of July's. Still, everytime I think of Independence Day fireworks, I picture a certain spot in Summitville, Indiana, where my family parks pickup trucks every year to watch the best hour-long exploding extravaganza I've ever seen. Or heard- the whole thing was set to music long before anyone started hiring local radio stations to play along with the show.

I don't know my mom's side of the family very well. On my dad's side, I can trace third cousins once removed and first cousins thrice removed without (much) hesitation. On my mom's side, though, I always have to ask an uncle or aunt to give me a name primer again. Some of the difference is in family dynamics- “that's my first ex-wife's former brother-in-law's house” is different than “cousins twice removed”- but most of it is an embarrassing unfamiliarity with the people. These aren't the family I grew up with.

I got caught up with my uncle Terry, as dusk approached and the Junior Fire Department came down the hill to get the crowd going, airdrumming with Glo-sticks to Lynard Skynard. Sweet home, indeed; he put names to the various grandkids and great-grandkids jumping from one truckbed to the next. All sorts of little cousins I don't know very well: Anthony with his funny glasses dancing on the picnic blanket, John (or maybe it's Josh) drinking pop and picking clover.

Terry told me that my cousin Adam will be home from training in September and then back to Baghdad in October, building and collecting landmines and using det-rope to blow doors off Iraqi houses. Aside from all the problems I have with the enterprise in general, I don't understand how such a clumsy boy ended up working with anything more dangerous than sheathed butter knives.

I shouldn't call him a boy, I guess. He's only two years younger than me- relatively old by army standards. They probably call him “Gramps.”

The Summitville Fire Department, in addition to having some of the biggest aerial displays I've ever seen, puts on a great ground show. This year, they set off a terrific Statue of Liberty, with Bruce Springsteen in the background singing Born in the USA. I think the Boss would have approved, but it made me wonder which firefighter held the post of Official Lyrics Checker.

Sent me off to a foreign land/To go and kill the yellow man... It was a beautiful show, but watching my little cousin Jeannie, with her bright red hair and orange ear-protectors, waving her Glo-stick with glee during the Armed Forces salute, made me wonder why peace churches don't do fireworks on the International Day of Peace. It's a different version of “why should the devil have all the good music,” maybe. Is there anything stopping First Friends or a likeminded congregation from renting Glen Miller Park and lighting up the sky?

Personally, I'd like to see some Glo-stick airdrumming to Joan Baez, just to be able to say I'd seen it.