Let it Be

I wonder how fireworks became the tradition for the Fourth of July, Independence Day. They're used on some other holidays--New Year's, for one, and some places have fireworks on other national holidays, like Labor Day--but it's the thing to do on the Fourth. I guess they just needed something special to do on that day, besides parades and cooking out, and fireworks got to be it.

I've never been to see the fireworks in downtown Rockford; we've always been able to see the ones in Cherry Valley from the driveway. It's very nice that way: no crowds, no parking issues, an easy trip inside the house for bug spray or a glass of lemonade. In the past, we've had friends of my parents over; they have a son, Shawn, who is in my sister's grade at Auburn (and was at King and West as well). They usually bring good Swedish cookies and ice cream and sparklers, and we have our own little party. My sister and I were laughing this year, remembering how at just about everything shot off, Shawn would ask excitedly, "Grand finale?"

This year, though, my parents decided that for once we would actually go into Cherry Valley to see the fireworks. Driving wouldn't be worth it, they reasoned, so we walked the few miles from my house. That part wasn't bad, as it was still light out and we were all in pretty good moods. We reached the park and wandered around for a while, watching people and looking for a good place to sit. Cherry Valley's probably more toned down than Rockford, but we saw people making out on the grass, annoying middle-schoolers sauntering around, amateurs setting off their own pre-show fireworks, and so on.

We happened to meet up with a group from our church, mostly kids from the youth group, and shared their blankets. Four or five of the kids were chased off the hill (a huge one in the middle of the park that a lot of people use for sledding and snowboarding) by an angry old police officer. At first I thought he was joking, but he just went off on them, threatening to arrest them. We decided later that, with the growing darkness and the undoubtedly increased stress of the night, he had just used them as scapegoats for all the crazy people running around. Eventually he stormed off, and after a few moments of shocked silence, everyone shrugged the incident off and settled down to wait for the fireworks.

I hadn't really understood why it was so important for us to walk into town when we could see the display perfectly well from our driveway, but I never knew what I was missing. The fireworks seemed much bigger and louder, and some looked like they would fall right on top of us. It's also mildly fun to have the whole crowd around you going, "Ooh" and "Aahh" and clapping. Once the whole deal's over, though, the fun ends: everyone jumps up and immediately starts high-tailing it out of there. People were trying to get out of the parking lot, but it was a lost cause, as the road was mobbed with people walking. We made it out of the park and started towards home. Someone suggested that we walk along the railroad tracks as a shortcut; in the dark, with a shaky-feeling bridge and strange people all around, it was fairly scary. When the bridge ended, I stepped across to the actual tracks to walk the rest of the way to the street. Somehow, my foot slipped through the gap between the bridge and the ground, and my leg went through. My mom quickly pulled me out, no worse for the wear aside from a slightly scraped knee, and we walked hurriedly on. It happened so fast that I didn't have time to think about it, but my mom kept saying how scared she was.

The walk along the road in the dark, swatting at mosquitoes and squinting into the headlights of approaching cars, seemed to take forever. I told my parents that the fireworks were not worth it, although they both claimed they'd do it again next year. I guess we'll have to wait and see. It might be better if we could be sure of meeting friends, or maybe next year I can get some people from school to come along.

Today we're "back to the ol' routine," as my dad always says after a holiday during the school year. There's not really much of a routine in summer, but the days have started to become all the same. This might sound mean, but I'll be glad when my mom goes back to work in a couple of weeks. She's been on a cleaning frenzy, going through boxes of old school papers and saved newspaper clippings, demanding that my sister and I clean up our rooms. I guess it all has to be done sometime, but I'm hopelessly lazy. She also wants us to go for a long walk every day--she's always been adamant about daily exercise--and she keeps claiming that I purposely try to avoid taking walks, when all I'm doing is finding my glasses and putting my hair up before going outside. Yesterday I got out of the house to see Bewitched with my dad, which I did enjoy. (One of my favorite parts: "They called me a tool?" "Yeah..but you're a cool tool...like...a jacksaw!") It's just been too much time cooped up inside with my mom and sister.

As part of this new cleaning thing, I was going through my desk today, looking for old notebooks to put away in storage bins for the time being. I rediscovered my English and Language Arts notebooks from eighth grade. I was really angry then, partly because I hated Language Arts (which was really remedial English; we read horrible plays and learned about similes and metaphors) and also because some of the people I'd considered my friends, like Gloria, were always teasing me and taking my books, all in fun, but it really got annoying after a while.

Here's one of my favorite entries:
"We have to watch a stupid, stupid, stupid movie in Language Arts. I've seen it before. It's the dumbest movie ever and I despise it and I'm going to die.
"The movie is Cry in the Wild. It's based on the book Hatchet. I hated the book. I hate the author Gary Paulsen. All of his books have the same basic plot: Some stupid boy comes to terms with his parents' divorce or some such thing by going out in the wilderness, eating a few leaves and berries, killing a raccoon or two, and then going home and transforming into a wonderfully behaved person who loves everyone...
"Hey, I just realized something. I get to miss the stupid movie because we'll be watching it on Wednesday and I'll be gone on the science trip. Ha ha ha!"

I don't think I'm that angry anymore; I've mellowed a lot since coming to high school, and I'm glad. I still hate Gary Paulsen, though.