Thoughts on the Fourth

The fourth of July lands this week and I find it a bit intimidating. For me, it follows my brother's birthday on the second and the first anniversary of my mother's passing on the third. If I have some mixed feelings about the celebration, please bear with me.

Mike is seven years younger than I am, so I was old enough to remember his birth in some detail. Mom spent the last three months of that pregnancy on full bed rest, so many of my memories of that time are a blend of watching my mother sit half-way up to crochet one item after another, or sitting in the bed beside her while she read to me and my younger sister, one book after another.

In her last couple of years, after Macular Degeneration blinded her, my sister returned the favor, reading a couple of chapters on every visit to our mother, one book after another. I lived too far away to be a regular reader, but Mom loved hearing the stories I wrote. Pat read them all at least twice.

Meanwhile Mike, despite a rough start and some difficult years along the way, is now living his personal dream in a lovely little cottage situated in a town where outdoor living is paramount. He is one happy camper. Mike is happily situated and Mom is no longer in pain. Those will be my happy thoughts for the beginning of this week. That brings us to the Fourth of July.

I grew up as a flag-waver. Although my views of our country have become somewhat more rounded and less idealized, I still proudly claim my citizenship. Other nations, particularly in Europe, have much of the personal freedom we enjoy, but the opportunities that have fulfilled my life are found in abundance only in America.

Someday I may yet write about my experiences with my daughter stuck in Bolivia during the most recent overthrow of their government in 2005. Having seen how power transitions are handled violently in some other places, I'm deeply grateful for the peaceful changes I've seen every four to eight years in our country. When the Bolivian transportation strikes let up enough that my daughter and I could get safely out of La Paz, I swore I would always celebrate independence Day.

This year, although the celebration may be somewhat diminished by the power of the day before, I will celebrate with my husband at the seaside, watching the waves roll in, enjoying a pancake breakfast cooked by the local fire department, and watching a parade that is sheer Americana, all fun and flags. I'll be thinking of my father, my father-in-law, and others who sacrificed so much to save our freedoms during WW II, and of the many others who have served before and since, now including two nephews who proudly wear American uniforms.

I'll be having some mixed emotions, but I'll be celebrating, just as I promised, hoping and praying that America will always remain "the land of the free and the home of the brave."