If you read USA Today, you might have noticed their recent list of best places to celebrate the Fourth of July, and Racine was way up on the list- maybe second or third, thanks chiefly to its enormous parade. We enjoyed the first half of it from the methodist church where Kathy’s family are members- and then moved a little further down Main Street to watch the rest of it from the front lawn of our friends Jeff and Lisa Neubauer from Holy Communion. Between those two locales plus the two blocks we traveled between them, it seemed like we saw half the population of Racine and so very many friends. Then we headed home to Kathy could make her world famous Taffy Apple Salad for Polly and Mark’s party while I snuck off for some tennis with Dave Krueger. One of many ways in which you can tell that I am an athlete of truly miniscule talent is that when we allow more than a week to go by without playing, I always end up in that next match looking like I’ve never touched a tennis racket in my life. I won our last match, but today Dave crushed me like a Dixie cup. . . 6-0 in the first set and 4-1 in the second before I finally had to head home – not to put my head in the oven but rather because we needed to get to Mark and Polly’s.
What fun we had there – plus a nice meal- before I headed off for Wolfenbuttel Park by the lake and the annual Fourth of July Concert of the Kenosha Pops Band. Everything went swimmingly except for a strange bit of quasi-heckling which was aimed at me by an odd-looking middle-aged guy in the audience. As I was introducing a patriotic sing-along medley, I quipped that anyone seen to be not singing would be forcibly removed from the park. It got a big laugh from the audience, except for a guy in the fourth row who called out “get away from the mic!” (I think he must have somehow took offense at my little joke.) And for that whole medley, he sat there defiantly – not singing a word – and whenever I looked in his general direction, he gave me the finger. (After four times receiving his upraised middle finger, I stopped looking his direction.) I had my big solos (“begin the beguine” and “america the beautiful”) still to come and wondered if the guy would be throwing rotten radishes at me, but fortunately for me he seemed to lose interest in the concert and wandered off right before the first of my solos. But there was no harm done, and if anything it spurred me on to sing especially well. Go figure! The concert ended as it always does, with me singing “America the Beautiful” (complete with high G on the last refrain) – and then a neat sequence in which the band plays the official march of the five branches of the U.S. military, and any veterans of those particular services are welcome to stand as their respective marches are played. That’s followed by the playing of Taps – a moment of silence – and then the singing of our national anthem, followed by Stars and Stripes Forever. (All we were missing was the Statue of Liberty popping out of a giant red white and blue cake.)
As fun and/or inspiring as all that was, the highlight of our Fourth of July was in watching the fireworks with Polly, Mark and Lorelai (plus their good friends Linda and Dave from Florida.) Lorelai was a bit scared of fireworks last year, and I’m pretty sure that whatever fireworks they watched were at a very safe distance. But this year Lorelai was excited about seeing them up close and would not have settled for anything less. And what a delight it was to see her with that wide-eyed look of wonder of on her face, as she sat most of the time on her dad’s lap. Actually, I have long believed that fireworks are the most universally enjoyed of all forms of entertainment – even more so than music – and I think there’s nothing like watching fireworks in the presence of a young child to be made aware of how really great fireworks have a way of bringing us to our knees, figuratively if not quite literally, in awe-struck wonder. . . whether we’re 5, 55, or 105. Fireworks are an amazing equalizer, making all of us feel pretty small and insignificant by comparison. . . and also lucky to be alive.
pictured: Lorelai and her dad Mark watching the ’08 fireworks.