My favorite July 4^th happened in 1983.  My husband and I lived on the outskirts of Houston, Texas.  He worked for a large construction company as a Project Estimator on petrochemical projects and I was a stay at home mom with two little babies.   This would be our last July 4^th in Texas because a few months later, we would move back to Florida due to the depressed economy in Texas.

We had purchased our home just before our first baby was born and we loved that little brick home with three white columns supporting the structure.  I knew I had arrived when I had columns on my house!  It was on a street in a quiet subdivision where sidewalks connected us to our neighbors.  The neighbors were friendly and welcomed us as a new addition to their street family. 

Every night after dinner, we would take our daughter outside so she could ride her big wheel on the sidewalk.  We took the baby and put him in his walker where he would chase after his big sister on her big wheel.  Neighbors would join us and would bring their lawn chairs and a glass of tea or a long neck beer (on hot summer nights) and we would talk about life.

Some of the neighbors were ahead of us in raising their children and had teenagers in the house.  The teenagers were great with our children and allowed grown up talk to occur while they watched the babies.  The older parents were great because they had “been there, done that” and they were a God-send with their sage advice about raising children. 

On July 4^th our street family planned a large cook out on the street.  Barricades were put up to keep the children safe.  Tables lined the middle of the street and were filled with homemade side dishes and desserts.  A big pull-behind grill was fired up with hot coals and a large crock of Texas bbq sauce sat on the side.  Ribs and chicken and of course, hot dogs for the children, were the main course.  We planned a late afternoon ‘feed’ so we could go to the fireworks together in the city park down the street.    The day was filled with the smell of bbq seeping into the crevices of all the homes on the street.  My husband kept disappearing from his Honey Do List and I would find him sipping a beer and tasting bbq with the guys at the grill.  As the kids -napped preparing for the afternoon fun, I made my favorite dessert – Florida Key Lime pie – to add a bit of our home state flavor to the Texas-based menu.

I loved the people on our street but I missed our family in Florida.  As a young wife and mother, I wanted to raise our children around their grandparents.  We were traditionalists and didn’t know it at the time.  We thought we were this cool, hip young couple who didn’t need the tentacles of a family unit.  We thought we were doing just fine – UNTIL – we had our children.  Then we knew the importance of extended family and we longed to be back home.    Little did we know that the economy would soon send us back there.

The afternoon sun was beginning to fade when we brought the kids outside for the street fun and food.  They loved riding their big wheel and walker in the street.  The teenagers did their part and kept an eye on them while the grownups talked about the heat and licked their fingers free of bbq sauce. 

When the time came for the street family to walk to the park, we gathered up our own family and walked down the street together to the park nearby.  Every family had their own blanket and we found a spot where the street family members could place their blankets side by side and wait for the fireworks to begin. 

More joy for our children as they watched us put a furry blanket on the green grass and pulled off their shoes so they could run and crawl around in the green grass between the blankets.  This was heaven for them and it was a great memory for us.  They were cute kids and everyone around us smiled and spoke to them in baby language.  There is nothing cuter than an adult – especially a big Texan with a cowboy hat and boots – talking in baby language!

I have never again felt like I did that evening.  As the day turned to night, and music filled the air, I was soaking in the sights and sounds so they could make their mark on the memory chip in my soul.   I was blessed to be there even though I missed my Florida family.  The neighbors had accepted us and we were now a part of their street family.  The community had welcomed us too and my flip flops had been put aside for a pair of cowboy boots that was a must for any resident of Texas.

The city provided the music and characters walked among the blankets adding to the festivities.  The characters were Benjamin Franklin, Betsy Ross and the likes of other great patriots.  My daughter would run and throw herself on them because she feared nothing and loved anything that looked unusual.  Our son was not as brave and he would crawl as fast as he could when Benjamin Franklin came his way.  His little body moved quickly to sit in my lap or wrap his legs around his dad’s chest. 

When the purple skies signaled it was time for fireworks, we grabbed the kids and held them in our laps.  We pointed to the sky and told them to watch for the pretty colors that would come from the heavens.  Our daughter followed our pointing finger and watched in awe as the sky lit up in wonder.  She loved it and giggled and said “More, daddy more.” 

Next to Daddy and “pumpkin pie” (our name for her), was Mom holding a frightened little boy who would not take a look at the colors but instead focused on the big booms that scared the dickens out of him.  Never before had I felt him hold me that tight.  He was struggling to survive against the booms of the night and nothing I could say or do would soothe him.  There was no escape from the booms so all I could do was hold him and tell him it would be all right.

When the fireworks were over, our son was drenched from the sweat of fear and I was too.  What started out as a wonderful day had ended with a night of fright for our little boy. 

As we walked back to our street with throngs of other families, we laughed at his response and wondered how the boy who made all the noise in the house was suddenly afraid of noise himself.  As each family came to their home door, they exited the throng and we sang out “Happy 4th, God Bless You!”  When we got to our house, we moved out of the dwindled group and we heard “Happy 4th,  God Bless You” as we closed the door. 

The kids were asleep on both or our chests so we decided to put them down without their nightly baths.  As Dad put our daughter down in her bed, she lifted her head and said, “Happy 4^th, God bless you.”  She had heard the street family say those words and she was passing the tradition along.  When I put our son to bed, I had to peel him away from my body where he had clung since the fireworks began.  He could rest now that the boom-booms had gone away.

As I cleaned the kitchen of the emptied key lime pie pans, I remembered the day and the larger American family we had become a part of.   Everyone on that street and in that park had gathered together to celebrate America and its birthday.   America was and is the people of its Nation.  Although we were from Florida, this Texas community had welcomed us in and we had accepted their ways of cowboy boots and big hats and they loved our key lime pies!  We were all one yet we were all different.

America had been proudly displayed all day long from the street to the park and through walking together as a community.  And a new generation of cute kids with sticky faces and grass clippings in their beds lay sleeping waiting their turn to govern this great Nation.

One by one, generations come and go, but one thing is certain – we will all hold the flame of liberty in our hands at some point and be responsible for handing it off to the next. 

Right now I feel as if the flame has been handed to us in the Tea Party Movement and the boom booms of life are overhead.  Just like that night on the flurry blanket in Texas, it’s our job to soothe the soul of the next generation and assure them it will all be okay. 

I wish you my dear tea party family – a “Happy 4th and a God Bless you.”  May God continue to give us grace and Save the USA.

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P.S. – Our little boy grew up and was in charge of “noise making” in our home.  He fell in love with airplanes and now works with them on a daily basis (talk about noise!).  He also fell in love with a beautiful woman who makes him a better man.  When did he propose?   On July 3^rd after a fireworks show in St. Augustine!  His wife never misses fireworks and it’s her favorite thing to attend!  Irony!

Our little girl grew up and this afternoon will be making custom-made 4^th of July outfits for her little girls to wear to their street family party tomorrow! 

The American way of Life goes on and so it should…

In honor of our cowboy family in Texas -- take a listen to John Wayne describing why he loves America.