Probably a sign of aging, but holidays now seem to call forth memories of holidays past. Tonight, for instance, I am thinking of my teen years, when the Fourth always meant the stock car races at Soldiers’ Field in Chicago, followed by what was then the most magnificent fireworks display we could imagine—today it would seem tame. I’m not sure, but I think I must have gone with a well-chaperoned church group because I can’t imagine my parents allowing such an outing otherwise.
And
then there was the year in the early ‘80s that my shirttail brother and I took my
children to the Lancaster Bridge in Fort Worth. Midway through the show I had a
panic attack—from realizing how high off the ground we were (heights are a big
thing for me)—and it turned out to be catching. Uncle Bob panicked too, and my
kids, still very young, had to lead these two doddering adults off the bridge.
One of
my best memories was the time friends and I went to the historic Oakwood
Cemetery (I belonged to the North Fort Worth Historical Society which sponsored
the event). We sat in folding chairs on the riverbank and had the best view of
the city display.
There
were nights in someone’s back yard when I was afraid a child would lose an eye
to a sparkler and nights watching from the twelfth floor of the Texas College
of Osteopathic Medicine, when my ex as still a faculty member and still with us.
Nights at Colonial Country Club, when the fireworks exploded right over us and
made me think my heart had stopped
I
think it’s sad, though, that on this day when we celebrate our nation, I’m
acutely aware of gun violence. Eight people were shot, many innocent
bystanders, on an incident in a nearby neighborhood; a golf pro was shot on the
course at a club in Georgia; twenty-plus shots were fired into the home of an
Alabama state senator (apparently not politically motivated); and in South
Carolina, two boys, ages eight and nine, were arrested for shooting and killing
a farmer as he worked on his tractor. They were just randomly firing,
apparently not thinking about consequences. What in heaven’s name are kids that
age doing with rifles? Every day, it’s at least one shooting in our city,
usually more. Folks, this is not what the Second Amendment meant at all. My
neighbor, who is a gun aficionado and Second Amendment advocate, claims it
means you can protect your home, not that you can randomly go out and shoot
guns anywhere, anytime. Hmmm. Guess Governor Abbott needs to read the
amendments again.
Nostalgia
may come with age but so, I have decided, do altered sleep patterns. Last night
about nine o’clock I got so sleepy I could hardly stand it, so I lay down for a
quick nap. I woke from a sound sleep at 10:45, feeling refreshed and ready to
do a day’s work. I didn’t quite do that, but it was 12:30 before I went back to
bed. Now I’m wondering what will happen tonight, because it’s 8:30, and I’m
feeling sleepy. Maybe fireworks will keep me awake. Sophie does not appear to be
bothered by them at all.
My
email program has started doing something spooky—it anticipates what I’m going
to say and types it ahead of my fingers. Sometimes it’s right, sometimes not.
What I’m afraid of is that I will change what I meant to say to fit what the
computer thinks I should say. Yikes! I think it’s something called Smart Keys,
but I have no idea how to turn it off. Technology is ahead of me again.
Good
night, sweet folks. Enjoy the fireworks, be they near, far, or televised. And
remember this can be a great country. We are, as President Biden says, at a
crossroads, and it’s up to each and everyone of us to reclaim our country. Do
not be afraid.
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