I wish every birthday party could be this fun. The Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays, beaten by the only two birthdays more important than America's- mine and Jesus'. In some ways it's better because you're allowed to be cheesy as if it were a theme party, with mass-produced flag t-shirts and oversized colored sunglasses. It has no full family or friends obligations either- it's whoever you want to spend it with.
This Fourth of July was spent at my mother's family estate in Western New York. I'm using the word "estate" very loosely here. I managed to get my boyfriend back with all five of my mom's brothers and their families at the campground my Nana has been taking them for over thirty years. It's a pretty unique little place, a circle of trailers left year round down a dusty dirt road on an Indian reservation. The younger relatives are left to tents set up wherever there's room, sometimes having to resort to shelter under unused picnic tables or the beds of pick-up trucks (maybe that only happens when you forget some vital part of your tent).
The best part of Fourth of July on an Indian reservation is the fireworks. Sure, we've all seen pretty spectacular fireworks displays, but you haven't seen fireworks until you've seen them set off of washed up tree stumps with a Bic lighter twenty feet away from you. Add in a Happy Hour that officially starts at 5 pm (or whenever you wake up, if Nana forgets to take down the flag) and bonfire conversations until late into the night, and you have one fun party.
The topic at the bonfire this year centered on the five items you'd need to survive on a deserted island, led by my father who essentially bashed any of the other choices the other campers made. A favorite interchange was when a family friend shared that he's bring a family photo for emotional strength. My dad looked at him for a hard five seconds and just said,
"You're dead."
Great Fourth of July spirit Dad.
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