Independence Day is Monday, and before the flurry of beach packing begins and cookout plans get underway, we thought we should write a bit about the holiday. Although I have been known to succumb to possession by the Christmas spirit, I feel a fierce pride about our nation’s birthday, an upwelling of emotion unequalled by any other holiday.
For me, this is the feeling of patriotism – gratitude for the men and women who have died for this country. pride that I am, however symbolically, descended from such intelligent and courageous men as the founding fathers, and even a sort of smugness that I am an American, a people with enough resourcefulness and fortitude to establish this great nation. No, I am not running for office — I did warn you that I’m into this holiday.
On July 3, 1776, John Adams, in a letter to his wife, Abigail, set forth the protocol for the celebration of Independence Day, noting that it “ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.” When John dreamed, he dreamed big, and as it turns out, prophetically. Unfortunately, he was talking about July 2, the day the Continental Congress voted for independence, not the 4th, which was the day they signed the Declaration. Considering he predicted the gala nearly down to the potato salad, I think we can forgive him a day or two.
My connection to this holiday may be rooted in my family; easily my most disturbing Independence Day was spent with my brother after his return from Desert Storm. After being given a place of honor with other returned veterans in the parade, he and the other soldiers sat with their backs to the display, subtly wincing at each explosion. I have not been able to watch fireworks since without imagining actual bombs screaming across the sky, and I wonder if we Americans can celebrate with such pyrotechnics because we have never really had to live through explosives raining down on our cities.
Of course, being raised in Maryland I know that is not the case. The poem that would become known as “The Star Spangled Banner” gives testament to the fusillade launched over Ft. McHenry by the British during the Battle of Baltimore in the War of 1812. The lyrics, in typical Charm City fashion, were set to the tune of a well-known drinking song. Although the tune enjoyed widespread popularity, it was during the World Series in 1917 that it was sung to honor the armed forces fighting in WWI. It went over so well that it was repeated ever afterward. Congress proclaimed it our national anthem in 1931.
Watching fireworks and humming the tune never fails to bring a tear to my eye – I am not so over the top that I know all four verses, mind you – but there truly is nothing like watching fireworks from the water. Although it was never one of the largest pyrotechnic displays in the country, to me the ideal has always been watching fireworks over Ft. McHenry. Indicative of that curious phenomenon whereby native residents rarely seem to engage in the “tourist trap” activities, I never made it downtown to Baltimore to celebrate our country’s independence. But I will, someday. And I’ll bring Kleenex.
A View From the Room 