Reason 216

Fourth of July. Forget grilled meat products and apple pie. Disregard the neighborhood parades full of smiling children on bedazzled bikes. Turn a blind eye to that outdated document called the Declaration of Independence. For my money, none of these accurately reflect the freedom our country gained from England over two hundred years ago. Nope, in my mind the only activity worthy of celebrating America's birthday is blowing stuff up. I have never been a patriotic person (it kills me that my students blindly recite the Pledge of Allegiance every morning) and growing up the only major event my family planned for the 4th was putting on a fireworks show in the middle of the street for our neighbors, so my only real connection to this holiday is lighting up long tubes stuffed with gun powder and watching the rainbow-colored lights dance across the sky. Some of my fondest memories are of visits to the local fireworks stand where I would command the lowly teenage cashier to load bag after bag with Roman candles, smoke bombs, whistling Pete's, pinwheels, Chinese flowers, and bumblebees (all paid for with my parents' money, of course). Once night fell on the fourth my brother and I would lug our goodies into the street and spend at least an hour reveling in homemade pyrotechnic glory. The only downfall was our dog Casey who howled non-stop if left in the house, but attempted to eat every explosive that came near her if tied to the fence that bordered the street. Most years we included her in the festivities and just hoped her face didn't catch on fire. Sadly, when I was a teenager my county banned the sale and use of all fireworks and I was left with nothing particularly interesting to do the first week of each July. Sure, I could head to my cousin's annual backyard barbeque or join thousands of other folks at the city's holiday gathering to gaze up at a fireworks display set to rousing classical music, but these events just didn't satisfy me the way blowing stuff up did. So, America's independence day has simply become a summer day like any other, marked by time spent at the gym, a few chapters of a good book, and perhaps a viewing of National Treasure if I have an inexplicable desire to honor our forefathers. Jason, if you live in a county that allows average citizens to risk burning off their fingers and litter the streets with defunct explosives, please invite me over next Fourth of July. I guarantee I'll be free and would love nothing more than to show up at your doorstep with a bundle of bottle rockets and some matches. I'll even bake some apple pie if you're one of those die-hard patriots who proudly sports a hokey Old Navy flag shirt every July 4th (with no irony intended). Happy birthday, America, indeed!