The Fourth Day of July

Having grown up in a small mountain town where the 4th of July is the biggest deal ever, I have grown accustomed to having extraordinary celebrations of independence. The town would all but shut down for three days. The street (yes, we were a one main street town) would close, there would be booths of patriotic handicrafts and miscellaneous trinkets, fireworks over the lake, and, of course, a parade. I was in the parade many times. For a few years it was as a dancer. For a few more years it was as a girl scout. One year I had the great honor of participating in the bike decorating contest/parade. Yep--just me, my pink huffy, a few judiciously decorated paper plates, and miles of red, white, and blue crepe paper.

When I moved to Orange County eleven years ago for college, the 4th stayed exciting. We went to the beach, watched fireworks, and caused a general college kid ruckus. The summer after my sophomore year I lived in North Carolina. I worked at a store, and around the 4th we started selling fireworks. I was terrified...those were illegal where I came from (which is silly...what's wrong with fireworks in the middle of the forest?), and as far as I knew fireworks were illegal everywhere. Honest to goodness, I was afraid we would get caught and I would go to jail. Fortunately someone informed me that in the Outer Banks fireworks were not, in fact, illegal, and that I would not go to jail for working in a store that sold them.

And then I graduated. And I had a job. For a few blessed years I worked on the 4th in an empty restaurant. Once freed from the bondage of restaurant work, I found that the 4th was no longer what I'd experienced when I was young. Costa Mesa does not shut down, and my friends were not interested in spending a day in traffic to go to the beach, have barbecues (we all lived in apartments anyway), or run around and play. The magic of the 4th was gone.

For the last few years Matt and I have routinely forgotten about the 4th until it was too late to plan something. And somehow we got left out of everyone else's plans. I don't like to invite myself places, and apparently other people didn't feel the pull to invite me. So we've had quiet 4ths with the two of us and some poppers from Target for the last few years.

This year I wanted it to be different. I want Ben to grow up the way that I did. Now, my patriotism and relationship with my country has been waning since I began studying its history in depth lately in preparation for my big test (two weeks!), so my cynicism has been a bit of a philosophical obstacle in gearing up for the big day (nothing says "GO USA!" like the Trail of Tears and Manifest Destiny); but I have these potent memories that will not abate. So when we found out that some friends of ours that live in the mountains I grew up in were having a get-together and didn't invite us, I got sad. I miss the mountains, the neighbors, the hot dogs, and the ice cream eating contests.

And then God said, "Shannon, how about a good time here in Costa Mesa?" Okay, it wasn't entirely orchestrated by God. I may have tried to squeeze myself in. But we ended up getting kind of invited to a neighborhood party across town. We don't live in the neighborhood, so it felt a little like cheating. But to be fair, we live in a dumpy apartment complex next to the freeway, so there isn't much of a "neighborhood" for us to belong to anyway. So we adopted one for holiday purposes. I'm okay with it.

First up, though, was a trip to Hades Hemet. It was a toasty 109 degrees. We visited with my dad, which was really nice. He was having a yard sale. There were a few people who came, and I was pleasantly surprised at how nice everyone was. You'd think living in Hades Hemet would make people cranky, but they were actually quite kind. They talked to my dad about fishing, birdhouses, camping, traveling, and just life in general. The neighbor came by to bring us some barbecue. Then he brought Ben and I to his house to meet his family and gave Ben a little stuffed animal. I miss that. I miss having neighbors that come by to chat and share food. In Orange County people don't do that quite as often as they cut you off with their superfluous SUVs while talking on their bluetooths in the Starbucks drive-thru.



We returned to the OC and rested for a bit, then headed to our surrogate neighborhood. I will admit, albeit embarrassingly, that I have dreamed of going to this party for several years. It actually takes me back to high school a bit. I was on the margins of the "in" crowd. I was friends with the popular people, we hung out at school and ate lunch together. But I didn't get invited to things with them outside of school. We were just school friends. To be sure, I had a great group of people that I spent time with outside of school. But when it came to the cool kids, I was the one that was liked by everyone but not in any inner circle. I'm sure it had loads to do with my crippling shyness. I'm a tad socially retarded. So when it comes to this neighborhood, I feel like that half-cool teenager again. But this year, I got to go. Again, I may have asserted myself a bit. But it was for my kid, I swear.

Either way, we had a great time. We missed the parade, but we enjoyed a marshmallow war, a truly terrible talent show, and great company. While I largely kept to myself and a few people that I actually am close to (remember the crippling shyness?), I did make a new friend. Matt and I took a walk around, taking in the delicious freeway-free peace and quiet, perfectly manicured lawns, and friendly neighbors. We dreamed of some day living in a neighborhood again, where Ben can do lame magic tricks for his talent and blow marshmallows through PVC pipes while Matt and I drink wine from a sippy cup and wait for the completely legal fireworks.