Another 4th of July was coming to an end as I sat on a blanket spread out on the ground that felt like concrete underneath my aging flesh. This was my forty-eighth year of watching the fireworks rush up from the ground into the black sky, arching over the mountain tops, bursting as they filled the late night sky with explosions and color. The beauty of the swirling lights and mixed colors of the mortars always sent a thrill to my heart leaving me breathless if only for a few seconds.

As a young girl, I was always eager for the 4th of July to arrive. At that point in my life, the day would be filled with family members getting together in the backyard of my grandparent's home. Men would discuss coal mining, gardens, sports, war stories and of course, women, while enjoying a cold beer from one of the many stainless steel washtubs filled with ice and drinks to please everyone from the age of two right up to ninety-two. ( I don't remember anyone older than that ever being present.) Women fluttered around as graciously as butterflies carrying trays of food to the tables set up all over the lawn. All of them had prepared delectable dishes of food to bring and then worked together as a team in my grandmother's kitchen to put together the added touches that would be needed such as diced onions for the hot dogs, sliced cheese for the hamburgers, vegetable trays, etc. Of course, they carried on very lively conversations about child birth, church, families in the community, recipes, the latest fashions and of course, men.

Celebrating the 4th of July meant we would enjoy the first sweet taste of watermelon for the summer, the corn should be "knee-high", and blackberry picking would soon be a way to spend Saturday afternoons. Swimming and looking for crawl dads would be a daily event and we would hear warnings about the danger in the approaching "dog days." July 4th was also the only day of the year that we could all expect to have all of the ice cream our little bellies could hold and the freedom to do a little bit of exploring along the creek bed and the hillside since the adults ushered us away to play while they enjoyed spending time together and catching up on the events of their daily lives. The end of day was signaled when everyone climbed into their respective vehicles to make the drive into town to watch fireworks.

As the years passed by, I studied Independence Day in school and learned about the Boston Tea Party, taxes, the American Revolution and how America was born. We were taught about patriotism, or at least what they considered to be patriotism, "the love of, or desire to serve, one's country."
It all seemed so simple then. People long before my time decided to fight for the freedom to make decisions about taxes, who would represent their united voices and where they would live and die. They won the fight. It took many years for me to really understand how important the day really is and how many people have stood fast against the enemy to keep our freedom safe.

Eventually, I married and started to celebrate the 4th of July in my own way. I held family cookouts at my own home and purchased enough fireworks to put on a display that made the city fireworks display look cheap. I tried to explain to my children about the history of our flag and why fireworks have become a tradition for the 4th of July. Once, when my nephew was about four years old, he said something to me that really touched a place within my soul. "Nana," he asked, "If tears come from angels crying because the world isn't as nice as it could be, did God make fireworks because he's angry with people who make the angels cry?"

From my vantage point there on my blanket, I could hear the whistling sound of fireworks going into the air from a distance and my thoughts turned to the many young men and women fighting in a war they don't understand, or maybe understand all too well, right now. While I enjoyed fireworks, family, and the sights and sounds of people of all ages living the good life, there were men and women hunkered down in holes in the ground seeing similar displays of flashing color being shot from actual weapons. Is it patriotism that made them answer the call to duty when their government asked them to do things that go against their instincts as human beings? I am sure that it is, along with the belief that it is possible to make dreams come true only if we have the freedom to dream in the first place.

As the grand finale of fireworks went off, I was reminded of the inscription I had read engraved on a stone in Washington, D.C., Freedom Is Not Free. I have to agree with that. Now, my 4th of July celebrations still include good food, family, music, watermelon and ice cream but it also includes a few minutes of silence in honor of the veterans who sacrificed time, love, family and often blood to make it possible for me to sit on a blanket and watch a public display of fireworks and then express my thoughts to anyone who might want to read them. Fireworks can be the most awe-inspiring, spine-tingling sight in the world and for me, a catalyst to the days of my youth and a link to the knowledge of how precious life and liberty really are to all of us.