Bombs bursting in air

I used to love this time of year. The smell of the fireworks and constant twinkle in the skies. The barbecue running, the burned hot dogs and brats. Cakes and freezies and ice cream. Parades and water gun fights. Volleyball at Dawn and Bill's. The patriotism of it all.

In Minnesota is the Taste of Minnesota. It's a weekish-long festival in downtown St. Paul. There are food vendors and crafts stands, among other things. I think. I never actually went but one year an aunt bought me a necklace with my name engraved on a piece of rice inside a liquid-filled tube and she said it was from the Taste. So I'm sure that's what it is. Each night ends with a fantastic fireworks show played in accompaniment to AMERICAN music. My family would go watch the fireworks each year, making sure to have the radio on so we could hear the tunes. My favorite always was "God Bless the USA" by Lee Greenwood: "From the lakes of Minnesota, to the hills of Tennessee ..." Tears always came to my eyes. Fourth of July was made for me.

I just had to look up the name of it because I thought it was "Proud to be an American." I haven't heard that song in a long time. I haven't seen a great fireworks show in a long time, either. Last year I worked on the Fourth of July. We all went on the roof (shh, don't tell) and watched the show when our work nearly was finished. It was a good show. Big, pretty lights across the Missouri. I didn't feel any emotion toward it at all. That didn't surprise me. I hadn't felt attached to fireworks in many years ...

It was hot when I came for orientation in the summer. Like, really hot, July heat. I was holed up in Jesse Hall while my dad enjoyed the comforts of the Campus Inn. Orientation was like high school. It sucked. It didn't deter me from my dreams of loving this town. One night, my dad and I walked around campus. We couldn't figure out where it ended and residential housing began. We ended up at Big Dipper. I should have known then that I was in love.

As he and I were headed out of town on our last day, I was exhausted and elated. As we passed over the Higgins bridge I was admiring the Wilma Theatre and he said something like, "If this town doesn't make you a liberal I don't know what will." You should understand during high school I hadn't pledged allegiance to anyone, though it probably seemed like I was stepping up to the plate hitting right. I followed my dad. He can be quite persuasive.

I was in for a rude awakening when my entire family drove away in late August, not knowing when I'd see them next. As I look back I can't pinpoint exactly when and where I changed, but it happened in those first few days, I'd guess. Or maybe it was sometime in the first month. By the time I went back for Thanksgiving I had my nose pierced. By Christmas I must have had my first tattoo.

When I got back to Minnesota for summer 8 1/2 months later I was a shell of the person who was left in Missoula the August before. That first summer home was difficult. I had to relearn socially acceptable Minnesota things. I spent many days at Caribou (CARIBOU! ... swoon) with High School Friend, talking about the past year and our excitement toward heading back to our respective schools. I grieved the death of my grandpa, the man who I loved so fiercely and who would have loved the new person that I'd become. The I-35 bridge collapsed. I got drunk in River Falls with older cousin.

I don't remember fireworks. Or that time of the year, even. From then on, that time of the year wasn't filled with the anticipation of the multi-colored skies. I'm sure I still loved the food, though. (I mean, who are we kidding, barbecue? Yum.)

The other night Boyfriend and I were watching Game of Thrones. As I watched Tyrion Lannister lead the charge and rain fire down on Stannis Baratheon's sea of ships I realized something. Yes, it took me nearly 24 years to put two and two together. Fireworks symbolize "bombs bursting in air." How morbid.

I didn't mention anything to Boyfriend then, but yesterday as we were hiking up the Rattlesnake I asked him what he thought about it. I knew the gist of what his answer would be. And I've been thinking about what he said since then.

"We're a bloodthirsty country, and anyone who tells you we aren't is lying to you."

Don't get me wrong. I love America's freedom. But glorifying death is not something that appeals to me.

I work tomorrow night. While the rest of America is getting drunk I'll be writing headlines you'll read hungover the next morning: "Man blows hand off in tragic fireworks accident." And as much as I hope there will be little kids out there like me who think that Fourth of July is magical and beautiful, I hope they too someday realize the importance of the holiday and what it symbolizes.

Enjoy Independence Day, friends. Don't do anything stupid. If you're bored and would like to read something I'd like to discuss in a future post, read this Esquire article. Until next time.

And if anyone happens to have a freezie laying around that they want to throw my way I'd much appreciate it. I hear it's been pretty hot in Minnesota ...