Fired Crackers Are Too God Damned Loud

When I was a boy we’d take packs of lady fingers, light them, and then toss them into the iced cream man’s truck as he served cones — laughing like devils as we ran down the street with sweaty faces and dirty elbows. As a younger man, I enjoyed being the caricatute of Americana — cladding myself in the American flag, hoisting dozens of flags outside my home and on the lawn — reveling in Americana apple pie and lighting firecrackers at night with the kids — beer in hand, hot dogs on the grill. The smell of burnt hot dogs wafting through the block as the kids ran away from low grade pyrotechnics is how I’ll always remember the 4th as a younger parent.

But now the kids are older and I’m older and I no longer desire to hear sticks of dynamite exploding next to my ear drums. My idea of a good 4th of July now is much different from what I posted here in 2014. For example, tonight I intend to grill ribs, chicken thighs, and maybe drink 1 or 2 beers, only because I feel obligated to do so. We have one American flag instead of 100 and I’m listening to classical music now. The idea of grilling hot dogs now makes me sick and it’s worth noting the younger generation doesn’t partake in hot dog consumption and views it as the food of the reprobate.

I might venture off for a walk later this evening with my estate pipe in tow, or perhaps take a drive to a local event where higher grade pyrotechnics will be on display. I do not view the 4th of July as a holiday to celebrate the government of this country, but instead its people. With that in mind, I am happy to celebrate this day, reminiscing on better times and offering a salute to the country I was born in and always felt as a child was God’s gift to the world. Whether that is true or not now is irrelevant, as I have ribs to cook, 1 or two beers to drink, and an estate pipe to smoke.

Cheers.