There are far too few days of the year that I actually look forward to. Christmas used to be my number one; Santa and I had an understanding that as long as I didn't kill, rape, or pillage, I was to receive at least a few Barbies and a couple new sweaters. However, as I got older, I quickly realized something; I have far too high of expectations for my mother's taste in clothes (although, there is something to be said about Jackie Blatter's love of matching outfits and her inclination to buy them for me...I just luurve that Jackie Blatter). Easter used to be fun; new dress, See's candies, and money hidden in eggs. Sure, I didn't know the connection between Christ rising from the dead and a giant rabbit that hides colored eggs around my house, but hell, I was too far into my diabetic coma from my easter basket to really give a shit.
Mostly, holidays have revolved around eating too much and sitting around while we watch the kids play and enjoy themselves far more than all of us adults on the couch wondering if its too rude to unbutton our pants in order to exhale. But the 4th of July...
My friend asked me last night (after noticing my inability to talk about the 4th without the most sincere of smiles) why I loved this holiday so much, and I really had to think about it. So much so that I felt inclined to write about it.
4th of July carries a lot of symbols: hot dogs, watermelons, swimming pools, and the granddaddy of all celebratory expressions, fireworks. Its one of the few holidays that most people actually understand what they're celebrating, and in a way its the single day of the year when we stop being pissed off about high gas prices, a violently fluctuating economy, and all the little reasons why we hate our country and are just at peace with the fact that we have the inalienable right to hate our country. Normally, I'm the first person to roll my eyes at the thought of finding a new Dwight Eisenhower when retired Republicans moon over the thought of a military general leading our country back to prosperity (don't get me wrong, I do like Ike), but on 4th of July, I can't help but feel a little smug about wearing a red,white, and blue sundress.
The 4th is the last piece of American romanticism we have. I find something profoundly beautiful about the way a barbecue lights up my dad's face, the feeling of running around in a Little Mermaid bathing suit until falling asleep on a lawn chair, and the way no matter how many times you've seen a firework go off in the sky, every person becomes hypnotized by that red and white glow in a dark blue sky. The warmth of the summer heat mixed with the Pina Colada song being played in a constant loop is something that will never be matched for me, and for all our bitching and complaining about capitalist consumerism and political corruption, it's pretty great to be home. Those 15 minutes of watching a distant fireworks show are enough to make everyone stand still, and for the briefest of moments, we're innocent again.
I also have a serious love of hotdogs, so it just be that...but I'll be damned if I don't look forward to those fireworks.
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