The Rockets Red Glare

Yeah, it's my annual July 4th post. I really tried not to get so irritated about all the stories going around this year about being courteous of veterans during the 4th celebration of fireworks.
I couldn't help it. Of course I appreciate what our veterans have gone through, however I guarantee today's young veterans never saw the kind of action my uncles did. Pretty sure most didn't see what my husband saw. But it was a fad this year to be aware of the terror the sound of fireworks causes veterans. I AM aware of it. Because of the following story. And you will note that my uncle never, not once told us kids not to participate in the festivities. Maybe I'm being heartless, but I remember that this hero didn't whine to the local news about jumping out of his skin when he heard firecrackers.

Uncle Bob would always come outdoors and sit in a lounge chair on those long ago July 4th celebrations when we would visit our cousins during the dog days of summer. We had spent our days walking along the uneven sidewalks of Loogootee to get Mister Mistys and toward dusk we'd gather in their small backyard that still had our cardboard box houses we had built from refrigerator and other appliance boxes we found in the back alley of a local store.

Invariably someone would end up stepping on a still hot sparkler some rugrat had dropped in the yard. Then the firecrackers would come out. They were set off in bunches, still tangled together or individually, a single loud pop here or there. As we kids would be running around the yard, Uncle Bob would remain sitting in his chair. Occasionally when I would turn my head from all the celebrating I would notice that his hands would be clutching the plastic arms of the chair and his eyes would close when the bang of the firecrackers and bottle rockets would explode.

I can still picture him sitting there, visably wincing as each bang seemed to get louder.  Even as a kid I knew why he winced, but I sure didn't appreciate what it took for him to sit there and be reminded of his days in Sicily. 

I wish now I had taken the time to sit down with him and hear what it was like fighting in WWII.  To hear of the battles and the reason he had a Purple Heart that I never saw until the day of his funeral.

I wish I knew.  I wish I had understood.  I wish I could thank him now for his service to our country.  But wasn't the innocence of not understanding, of living free and carefree exactly what he fought for?  That I COULD take my freedom for granted as a child.  Didn't he fight so I would never know the horrors of living under tyranny?

Happy Independence Day everyone.  I hope we never forget the sacrifices the thousands of "Uncle Bob's" that have provided us the opportunity to live in the greatest nation on earth.