I remember liking it. It was the first holiday of summer break. There was a town parade, and I was thrown (pelted with) candy and gum. There was an evening of fireworks, and what small boy addicted to action movies doesn’t like to see that it is possible to blow shit up in real life?
Now, I don’t know if I could care less about the holiday. I get the day off, and that’s good, but if I can’t see the fireworks from my window, I don’t see them. No more candy, and the only gum I chew is sugarless. I’m not gung-ho about cookouts, and my patriotism has plummeted in the last few years.
Maybe it’s an adult thing. I seem to enjoy all holidays a little less than I used to. Maybe once I have a kid of my own I’ll be able to re-learn what made this sweltering, grease-drenched day so much fun. I’ll be able to see the fireworks through his or her eyes.
Plus, I’ll be able to pelt the little bastard with gumballs.