SHOC

SHOC
Discerning content for Bad Hombres and Nasty Women

Thursday, July 4, 2019

Guest Editorial - I Love the Fourth of July

I love the Fourth of July. It is, bar none, my favorite holiday.

Little or no tension. Casual clothing all day. Good weather. It can be celebrated with family or the neighbors, friends or strangers on the beaches. You can even stay at home guilt-free.


The meals are great. Outdoor food. “Eat quick before the bugs arrive!” What a good excuse for gluttony.


The music is the best. John Phillip Sousa owns the day (assisted by Tchaikovsky for just one song.) Sousa’s music even sounds inspiring on kazoos. Plus you don’t hear it endlessly for weeks ahead of the holiday.


The memories of other holidays seem to blur together: The memories of Independence Day stand out clear. It is about places and friends. Picnics in Iowa, Clairmont with a reluctant Gramma Paul “I’m in my housecoat! I cannot go to a park in a housecoat!”, afternoons at Oscar’s, dinner on the roof at Love’s Restaurant, blasting Roman candles into a field of corn, Pete dressed as the Statue of Liberty at the curtain call for “Kiss Me Kate”, shooting bottle rockets from the roof of ACT and almost hitting a barn owl (was that the 4th or just an evening of debauchery?), standing on the bridge with Cal and Allen, my older brother’s endless supply of cherry bombs and lady fingers, watching my little brother face change from horror to fascination as he watched his first burning snake writhe out of its black pill, charred marshmallows with molten centers, walking the cliffs of Oceanside watching a crowd of 10,000 (heavily infused with Marine Corp. families) shooting off an impressive display of Tijuana’s best illegal fireworks, Kingsfurd and potato salad, walking my dog around Jefferson watching other people’s fireworks, writing my name is sparkler fire, dancing with anticipation when my father brought out the big fountains, sitting on the patio with my mother during our last fourth together, knowing it was our last fourth together, watching just the tops of aerial displays from miles away and not letting the irony overwhelm us.


Be kind to your web footed friends
For a duck may be somebody’s mother
You may think that this is the end
Well it is….

(Thanks, Craig!)

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