The news people are talking about the Fourth of July and the celebrations. There is much discussion on keeping the holiday safe: Only children over 12 should handle fireworks. Wear eye protection. Light only one firework at a time. Obey local fireworks laws. Never try to make your own fireworks. Designate one person only for lighting the fireworks. Adult supervision is a must. Never throw or point a firework at another person. Soak all of the spent fireworks in a bucket of water for at least fifteen minutes before putting them in the trash. Fireworks and alcohol do not mix!
My adult sons are busy with their friends and I probably won't see them over the holiday. They've forgotten about family picnics and the making of ice cream with the hand-cranked bucket freezer at Grandpa's house. Years ago they and their cousins kept the paddles turning in the creamy mix until finish, and we all enjoyed big spoons full with fresh strawberries.
The Old Fashioned Fourth of July at Causland Park includes a parade, games and the Annual Town Photo on Commercial Avenue. The photo is taken from the fully extended ladder on Anacortes' biggest hook and ladder firetruck. The mayor stands in front and citizens crowd behind him filling the street between the sidewalks.
But that's the stuff of childhood. Now they are planning backyard parties of their own or maybe even making the trip to Seattle for the big fireworks shows. My teenage son may hang around home until late evening, bringing a few friends over for cheeseburgers and potato salad. There's a chance they'll invite John along for the detonation of whatever bombs they've been building. After all, he helps pack them. A friend has property alongside the Swinomish fireworks retail area, and that's good camouflage.
I'll insist that's where they'll go and that John and a couple of his friends supervise. No arguing!
They'll promise to observe all of the safety rules. Of course.
Me? I'll put on the meal and then send everyone off the property. I'll watch fireworks displays from all over the country on TV while holding two trembling, panting and wild-eyed miniature pinschers. They really come undone by the pyrotechnics in the neighborhood, and this holiday it's a curse to have that keen hearing. Poor little things.
The cats will come home sometime around noon the next day. I don't know where they go, but it's not possible to corral them when they hear the first firecracker before I do.
Sometimes I think about the picnics and the ice cream freezer with the hand-crank. I have a good print enlargement of the town photo with my dad and me and my brother and all of the grandchildren are visible near the center. Ross, the youngest, was three and Chris, the oldest, was fifteen. It was 1995.
I look at that photo and I smile, but I do not feel sad.
The kids are doing what all kids do. They are grown up or growing up and making their own fun. Nothing wrong with a little independence on Independence Day.
There are no grandchildren for me yet. I believe that when they arrive, I'll be looking around for that old ice cream freezer with the crank on it.
And the local vet will give me Xanax for the dogs, I think.
