I am thoroughly enjoying my holiday weekend. I spent most of yesterday at the river with extended family. We had a blast on the jet skis and the boat. Today, there’s a cookout at my parent’s house. Tomorrow, time with the hubs and baby girl (fingers crossed that “fixing our closet” is on his list of “to-do’s”). We’re also gearing up for our Michael Buble concert on Friday (YaY!)
In the meantime, I was trying to think of a special, Independence Day memory to share. I obviously loved watching fireworks as a kid. Lately, I enjoy the “fireworks” display at my parents’ with friends and their families: including the year my kid brother freaked out over a sparkler and ran around the yard screaming like a girl. And two years ago, when one of the fireworks backfired and almost took my head off. And the people across the street yelling: “That all you got?” And last year, when we tried to “one-up” them. . . . I know those fireworks were illegal, guys. Seriously.
But I think my best July 4th moment came on July 5th. It was the summer between 5th and 6th grades, and I had a “sort-of” boyfriend. We’d “dated” off and on—were definitely interested in each other—and I remember him calling me up the day after the fourth. I’d gone downtown to see the fireworks the night before. He had access via a family member to the place where they were setting them off, and had helped.
I was on the phone in my Mom’s room when he asked about the fireworks: “Which color was your favorite?”
I replied: “Red.”
“Well,” he said, “last night, all of the red fireworks were for you.”
That was one, smooth, sixth grade boy. Seriously. I absolutely melted. To this day, I don’t think I’ve heard a line that great.
Unfortunately, it ended. He changed schools and I didn’t see him anymore. I did spot him at a play just after my senior year in high school. I was with someone, and he was with someone, and I don’t think he saw me or recognized me, but I remembered. It’s funny the things that stay with us over the years, because I’m sure this guy doesn’t remember me or that he called or anything he said. But still, to this day, all the red ones are *mine*.
Three cheers for summer romances. They might end, but they never really die.
Happy Independence Day!