A Memorable Fourth of July

Americans unite with the same goal on the same day of every year, July fourth. We unite to celebrate America in all of her glory. We celebrate her strength, freedom, and prosperity. She is our land, our home, and we are her Americans.

My most memorable Fourth of July began just like most of my summer mornings. My alarm clock's monotonous tone woke me. The bedroom was hot. So, I turned to my air conditioner for relief.

Then, I strolled to the bathroom with cat and dog shadows. A blood glucose meter beeped its reading, I flushed, and my shadows scattered.

My fully-applianced kitchen simplified my Fourth of July morning. Its microwave spun a cup of tea and the dishwasher toiled while I dressed.

I debated, for a moment, over New Balance or Puma sneakers. Then, I grabbed my designer shades, hooked my wiggly dog to a retractable lead, and headed out.

An express Otis elevator gave me and Wiggles a step-free ride down many flights.

Outside, guarded by luxury high-rises, Wiggles squatted under the back end of a Mercedes-Benz and took a pee.

"Jesus loves you! Fresh fruit! Read his word! Get your Scott tissue! Three bananas for one dollar! Get your Christian books," and other huckstering rang flat in Wiggles pointed ears until she heard, "Hot dogs! Get your red hot hot dogs, right 'ere!"

Sorely missing from all of the commotion was the wish, "Happy Fourth of July."

Otis uplifted us home and I spent the afternoon bobbing between the computer and telephone. Except, of course, for when I glanced at the television.

Before long, my intercom announced that my friends had arrived. So, I stuffed my cell phone and MP3 in my designer bag, whipped on my shades, and ran to Otis. It zipped me down to meet them.

We hopped on the No. 4, air-conditioned, express train headed downtown toward the Fourth of July celebration. A solo soul singer who sounded pretty smooth scoffed some cash.

Surfacing from the subway at the Brooklyn Bridge, we decided against a taxicab, and began to stroll. We became dwarfed by downtown Manhattan's grandiose City Hall and mega J & R Electronics store. Soon, July Fourth's sticky heat directed us to the nearest one of a fleet of Mister Softee ice cream trucks.

We licked our way to our destination, South Street Seaport's hotspot, Pier 17. The music flowed freely, the beers were $5.00 a pop and outdoor seats at Skipper's watering hole were 70 bucks a buttocks.

I stood near the edge of the Pier and stared up at the velvety night sky with anticipation. As patriotic music marched in the background, I remember thinking how perfect it all was; it was a perfect spot with a perfect view of Macy's acclaimed Fourth of July Fireworks.

Suddenly, sprinkles tickled my skin. As they developed into drops, I heard dismay in surround sound of Asian, Eastern European, Western European, and Latino languages.

"How wonderful," I thought, "that America is made up of people from all countries of the world and they are here in New York City to celebrate her independence tonight."

Caught between the water of New York Harbor and the July Fourth rain, I was stricken by the thought of all the countries still without clean drinking water. It made me realize what I was really there to celebrate. It reminded me how fortunate I am to live in a country that has so much to offer her people and how lucky I am to be an American.

Then, the rocket red flare, the cameras raised in air, gave proof through the rain that fireworks could still glare, and the celebration went on.

Due to this reminder on the pier, my most memorable Fourth of July is July 4th, 2008.