This weekend I was remembering a 4th of July celebration Melissa and I found ourselves in about 20 years ago.
We were living in Indianapolis, not far from downtown. Nearby Rhodius Park was a perfect place to watch the official Indy fireworks without battling the traffic.
So as the sun set, we walked over with our toddlers in the stroller and sat at the top of the hill on the near end of the park.
We staked out our spot and spread a blanket, anxious to see our kids' reaction to the fireworks. But we didn't stick around long. Within a few minutes, bottle rockets and other fireworks came whizzing through the gathered crowd.
It was impossible to know if the people shooting fireworks through the crowd were being careless, stupid, or just plain malicious.
The motivation didn't matter - we didn't want a family member taking a rocket to the eye and so we left.
I think there is a reason why this memory has resurfaced this year.
Perhaps I am finding a symbol of my present-day experience of mixed patriotic feelings: the desire to celebrate the greatness of this country being frustrated by the fear and irritation inspired by the poor decisions of some fellow citizens.
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