Ever since I can remember, the Fourth of July has always been my favorite holiday.
Every year on Fourth of July eve, we could hardly sleep at night with excitement and anticipation for what Uncle Sam would bring us the next morning. I remember staring out my window into the starry night sky with a vigilant eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of Uncle Sam making his special visits to eagerly waiting, legal U.S. citizens. You’d think he would be easy to spot in his super cool, gas-guzzling, government issued Humvee pulled by fifty elephants and donkeys, which represent each state and their party alignments. However, for whatever reason, his stop at our house always remained secretive... but no less magical.
As kids we would often stay up through the night reading stories to each other, like: The Preamble, The Constitution, or our personal favorite, The Declaration of Independence. Sometimes, as we sleeplessly sat in our rooms eagerly awaiting dawn’s arrival, we would quiz each other on the amendments or the dates that each state joined the Union. Those were good times, nay, great times!
Finally, morning would arrive, and we’d soar from our bedrooms like bald eagles from a telephone pole in a newly developed neighborhood. Jumping loudly on our parents’ bed to wake them, we would sing: This Land is Your Land; this Land is My Land; America the Beautiful and all our other favorite Fourth of July carols.
As a family, we would then head down the stairs and to the backyard to see what wonderful pieces of meat Uncle Sam had left us under our barbeque grill. We could hardly contain ourselves. Each person would hurriedly un-wrap their special Fourth of July gift, revealing a different cut from their favorite animal. I usually got select grade, premium Angus ground-beef hamburger patties that were perfectly-formed! My sisters and mom typically found non-steroid enhanced, boneless chicken breasts or fresh fillets of fish; my brothers always got an asortment of hotdogs and brawtworst; my dad —a one-inch rib-eye steak.
I recall how thrilling it would be to see the half eaten plate of Baked Beans we'd left out the night before, or to stumble on the empty soda cans that he had discourteously strewn across our yard. Dad usually made me clean them up, but I didn’t mind because they were just signs that he had truly visited us. Plus, nothing could ruin this special day for me —nothing.
Yes, I may be guilty of the occasional, in-the-moment love spouting for other holidays, but the Fourth of July will always hold a tender place in my heart. And now that I am older and with a family of my own, I can hardly wait to see the excitement on my children’s faces as they find Uncle Sam’s grill-able gifts under our barbeque.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
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