Every memory I have of the 4th of July as child on up to early teens in my small town of Demopolis involved my dad’s rock and roll band playing at one of the band member’s house. This particular band member lived by the river and his home was a perfect spot to watch the fireworks. Dad’s band was the unofficial band of the town’s annual 4th celebration Freedom on the River. It was understood that if you were headed down to the river to watch the fireworks that earlier in the evening, dad’s band Breakaway would be performing. Cars would pull in the empty lots (were practice ball fields when I was kid) in front of Commissioner’s Street to park, watch the band, and catch the Fireworks at the end of the night. One thing that stands out in mind was the freedom we had as kids to wonder down toward the park by the city landing and around that area before returning back to the general vicinity of the band playing. It goes back to the whole it takes a village to raise a kid. Demopolis has and had plenty of good people that knew who you were even if you didn’t know them so mamas didn’t really have to worry too much about us acting out. The town would let your mama know if you misbehaved or yikes, if it was a close family friend, they had full rights to discipline you.

When I was in middle school, I remember sitting in a swing with close friends as we listened to one of them talk about his upcoming move to Arizona. It was devastating that one of us was moving and across the US! I also remember trying to pick out a sundress to wear for the occasion. Like I said, this was not just my dad and his friends but it was the whole town’s event. Who knew who you might see and if it happened to be that guy, you didn’t want to be caught dead in just a pair of shorts and t-shirt!

The fireworks! Oh, how I loved the fireworks. As they lit up the sky, you could see boats scattered along the Tombigbee, and I loved the picture they painted against our town’s water tower. The world seemed to stop when they started. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that everyone understood. There was no talking during the performance except for an “ooh or ah” and clapping. After the show, as customary at each performance, a recording of Lee Greenwood’s Proud to be an American would play on cue and again, silence. Silence for respect of those that made the ultimate sacrfice. Goosebumps would inch across my arm as I thought how special it is to live in the USA. After the song would end, the designated guy (not sure how he knew) would yell “Free Bird” or something to signify for the band to start playing again. The band would play a final set that included crowd favorites, such as, Play that Funky Music by Wild Cherry or Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynryd. The crowd didn’t seem to want the band to stop playing for they had finally started dancing.

Now, another 4th approaches. Not sure if the baby will stay awake long enough for the fireworks or if he will even like them. My dad will pick up his guitar and play the classics and some new hits. I’ll pretend to know how to sing but at least I’ll know all the words from being a band groupie all these years! A new star will take stage as my nephew sings. Goosebumps will inch across my arm as I am grateful to live in the US and grateful for another 4th of July with my family. Happy Birthday America!