The Fourth of July used to be my favorite holiday. As a child, I lived for running through sprinklers during the day, getting to the fireworks early to stake out the perfect viewing area, and later, having our annual hide-and-go-seek-tag game in the dark with the neighbor kids.
As I got older, I enjoyed barbecues with friends, swimming, and boating. The two summers I worked at the country club, I busted my tail for extra cash, got to enjoy a "gourmet" barbecue, and a private firework show.
The last two years, the Fourth hasn't been so great. Actually, they've been downright miserable.
In 2010, my great aunt, who for all intensive purposes, was my third grandmother, passed away on July 2. I wanted to be in Florida for as little time as possible (which is a story for another day,) and my dad agreed.
Unfortunately, due to the holiday, I ended up in Florida for days rather than hours. I was on a redeye flight the morning of the third, and returned home on the sixth. The funeral itself was on the fourth. It rained the whole time. No fireworks. The closest person in age to myself was my father. I spent the majority of the weekend holed up in a room being antisocial, because people just didn't understand my relationship with Sally, (again, another story) and I didn't feel like explaining it, again.
2011 was supposed to be better. It had to be. Except, it wasn't. We went to the racetrack. It was hot outside. I was emotionally and physically miserable. I didn't bet on the horses. I got in a fight with my dad because of my shitty mood.
No one wanted to go see fireworks. I went by myself. I was alone, and it was depressing.
I've been promised that my faith in the Fourth will be renewed this year. I really hope that's the case.
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