Picnic tables straining with the weight of watermelons, fried chicken, hot dogs and hamburgers. Sweet tea in translucent jugs, blueberry pie smeared across checkered tablecloths, baseball bats propped up against a tree. Kids running by with ketchup stains on their shirts, an ice cream cone in one hand, a big toothy grin on their face. Dogs barking after Frisbees, hollering from the backyard as a cousin steals second base, the smell of charcoal wafting down the street, inviting everybody over. Swimsuits and flip flops, red, white and blue streamers, paper plates filling the trashcans. At dusk, everyone finds a spot on the warm grass, drinks and cold drumsticks in hand. Fireworks light up the sky, crackling and popping, drowning out the summer night crickets. Kids and adults both glow ear to ear, lovers kiss under the sky show, Wow is the only word you can hear.

——-

That is my dream 4th of July. My dream summer, really. I’m not the only one, right? Do people even have summer get-togethers like that? Or am I perpetually stuck in a “Wonder Years” dream fantasy?

I’ve just always been obsessed with Americana. With white picket fences, American flags, big porches, small towns, big parades, Mom & Pop shops, local delis. Part of me wants a big white house in the suburbs, a town where I know everybody, where my kids will have tons of friends to play with and chase after. Assuming, anyway, that by the time I have kids they’re not spending their days in hovercrafts chasing robotic butterflies. I want simpler times and a big neighborhood cookout and green grass and a neighbor that will walk over for coffee and help me plan the food for our 4th of July party.

But this year? I’ll try and see fireworks that night, but there won’t be a need to make peach cobbler or fire up a grill. It’s my first Independence Day off in 4 years, but I’m missing all the people. I’m missing the big backyard and the small town parade and the gummy mouthed kids. But I will celebrate being half-American with a Springsteen song, a ride in his Ford and maybe a sno-cone. I’ll just keep waiting on that Norman Rockwell painting of mine to come to life.

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