Disaster on the 4th of July

You never know what moments will stand out in a person's memory of childhood. That 4th of July when I was eight-years-old started out like any other, but the day's events took an ominous turn by mid-afternoon--and will always be the first thing that comes to mind when this patriotic holiday is mentioned.

The day began with the hustle and bustle of readying for an afternoon of grilling and eating. The grandparents were expected for the festivities. The kitchen was no place for small children, what with the grown-ups moving around at what seemed lightning speed in the day's preparations.

My brother and I did our best to stay out of the way--except when it came time to put the flag out on the porch. Dad got the flag from its storage spot; my brother and I clamored and cajoled to be allowed to put Old Glory on display. Dad, ever the peace-keeper, explained that whichever one of us was tall enough to put the flag in its holder could do so. Neither one of us could reach the spot, so Dad put it in place, explaining that the flag must never be allowed to touch the ground.

The family took time to attend the town's parade, then it was back to the house, awaiting the arrival of family visitors. Dad warmed up the grill and Mom stayed inside finishing up macaroni salad and a vegetable plate. I sat outside, watching Dad perform his magic with spare ribs and kept him peppered with idle conversation and endless questions.

Sometime during the grilling of the meat, Dad went inside to help Mom make coleslaw. That was the beginning of the disaster, but certainly not the worst of it. While he instead made "coleslaw soup" by grinding the cabbage in the blender, the spareribs took on a decidedly dark color. Truth be told, they were black. Not a good omen, it turned out.

Hotdogs were immediately placed on the grill to feed all those opposed to burned spareribs. Always my father's champion, I chose to eat the ribs. As we sat eating, the sky took on a dark and angry-looking appearance. The radio was turned on and something was said about storms and tornadoes.

My brother and I were shooed to the basement, plates and all. I recall feeling scared and anxious while I munched on the crispy spareribs. To this day I can remember exactly what that charred pork tasted like.

The wind began blowing and rain soon followed. Thunder that shook the ground replaced sounds of conversation. The one and only time my parents' house flooded began that night and followed into the next day. All of us took turns bailing water out windows as it backed up into sinks and bathtubs.

My brother and I didn't go to any man-made fireworks that 4th of July, but Mother Nature provided plenty of her own.