First of all, why are Dr. Phil and his wife hosting the
Boston 4th of July celebration? Could they possibly suck any more? And second of all, do you think Keith Lockhart and the Pops could do this music in their sleep? Cuz I’m thinking so. And wow – “Dirty Water” AND “Coming to
America” as part of the fireworks display, that’s frigging outstanding. I’m bitter I’m not there.Anyhoo people, just checking in to report that once again, Independence Day in the Home of Champions was a smashing success. This year’s celebration had a special international flavor, thanks to the presence of
Ireland‘s finest export since Guiness, the lovely DM. Highlights included my father and the VA’s riding in the Model A; the McA Girls on the Brown School float; local cowboy celebrity Rex Trailer, who seems to only have appeal in Natick, and yet that appeal is strangely very strong; making fun of dancers from the rival dance studio in town to my own; and my personal favorite, the Senior Citizens Lawn Chair Drill Team. I’m telling you, every time I think this town can’t out-kitsch itself, it does. The award for Line of the Day goes to my Auntie Lulla, who, commenting on this annoying guy they have skate around on roller skates with a microphone to entertain the kids, said: “He’s the kind of person you just want to drown.” You people think I just hatched this way? Oh no, it runs in the family.Anyways, last night I watched “The Agronomist,” a really good documentary about a Haitian journalist who was murdered, basically for speaking truth to power. It kept popping into my mind today, partly because Haiti always does, and partly because, while I complain a lot about this country not living up to its potential the way I think it could, I never stop being grateful for the fact that I have the freedom to do so. I pray for the people in the armed services, and I also thank God for people who, like Jean Dominique, realize that you can love your country and protest at the same time.But mostly this morning I thought of my grandmothers – my Nana Mella has been gone for four years now, and it still seems like there’s a big gaping hole on the sidewalk where she used to sit at the parade. Nana, the daughter of Italian immigrants, was exceptionally patriotic. I asked her one time, in an election year, who she was voting for. And she looked at me solemnly and said, “I never tell. My whole life, people have been telling me what to do – my mother, my husband…when I go into that booth, that’s the only place where no one can tell me what to do.” I think it was the most patriotic thing I’ve ever heard. Every year at the parade, even as she got older, when the soldiers would march by, she would manage to stand up and show respect. This was the first year at the parade without my Nana Phyllis – who’s still with us, but living in a nursing home and unable to make it out to the big event. I thought of her, and what it must have been like for her to spend the first two years of her marriage, with a baby at home, while my grandfather was fighting WWII on a minesweeper in the South Pacific. I thought of all of the changes she’s seen in her lifetime and what it must feel like when the world has pretty much passed you by. But mostly I just thought that I missed seeing her there in her red hat and flag shirt, being a part of the community. This morning reminded me that I’m blessed to live in this country, but that those blessings come at a price – paid by the paratroopers and the protesters, by my parents and their parents, and by others whose names I’ll never know. I looked at my godson, adopted from a Russian orphanage, waving an American flag, and I rejoiced that he’s every bit as American as his brother sitting next to him, who was born here. And I was reminded that with my blessings come responsibilities, to honor the legacies and the lessons my family taught me about giving back and what it means to be patriotic.Happy 4th of July everyone!