My sister visited. My wife and I took a walk. There was a barbecue at some friends’ house with kids running around screaming, and an illegal but well-attended fireworks show at a nearby park.
When do you realize you’re in one of the most important days of your life?
For me it was as the newly minted missus and I sat and watched children play. A little boy wouldn’t go under the playground’s spray fountain like all the other kids. He was about 18 months or 2 years, maybe. I’m not good at gauging kids’ ages. But he squealed and clapped, excited by the water that scared him.
It sort of dawned on me this moment was important. I turned to look at my wife. Very important indeed.
It wasn’t the type of important day where something changes. No one died, was born, met someone special or discovered that real Mexican food is so much more amazing than the crap he’d been raised with — all important actual moments that have occurred in my life.
This was the type of import that comes from things being what they are, not from new things being born or dying. It was the importance of noting this is what my life is now, and that I really like it.
Happy Independence Day, America. I’m sorry for what we did, but we’re going to try to make it better.
