Celebrating the Fourth of July

Kaboom!

When the impressive pyrotechnics exploded high above the earth’s surface, they illuminated the night sky with a brilliant bouquet of vibrant starlight, thereby creating an awe-inspiring sight, which could be seen for miles around Ellwood City.

As my little sisters and I sat atop the shingled roof covering the back porch of the church parsonage watching the spectacular display of fireworks, we sang the Star-Spangled Banner – written by Francis Scott Key after the American flag triumphantly survived the bombardment of Fort McHenry in the War of 1812.

Due to the fact that our harmonious vocal trio was sitting on a geometric angle, we decided it was in our best interest to refrain from standing for the enthusiastic rendition of the national anthem to avoid taking a nosedive over the edge.

This rising seventh grader – which was afflicted with a mild case of cerebral palsy and a balance problem – didn’t relish the idea of celebrating the Fourth of July in a full-blown body cast.

Plus, I would’ve had too many unanswered questions for my parents!

Since Independence Day has always been one of my favorite holidays, I was giddy upon discovering our new digs came with its very own picnic table situated outside the kitchen window directly beside a giant maple tree.

Just like baseball, hot dogs and apple pie, there was nothing more quintessentially American than commemorating the memorable federal holiday by having a good old-fashioned family cookout complete with burgers, potato salad and baked beans atop a red, white and blue tablecloth.

Parades, picnics and fireworks was the order of the day.

My younger siblings and I began the day with a parade of our own making.

Once these three musketeers reached the main level with our selected props in hand, we slowly marched through the living and dining rooms before reaching our destination in the heart of the home where a scrumptious pancake breakfast with three place settings sat on the kitchen table.

While I led the uproarious procession with a homespun Uncle Sam hat adorning the top of my head, the pair of feather capped debutantes each rode in on a hobby horse – which doubled as a pony – as we jubilantly sang the words to “Yankee Doodle.”

By the time our talented threesome began belting out the third verse of the patriotic tune, the dark-haired brunette prematurely put an end to our celebratory mood with a call to suspend the joyous festivities until the most important meal of the day was completed.

“It’s time for Yankee Doodle and his minions to take a break,” proclaimed Mom as she placed our assorted paraphernalia on the laminate counter next to the double bowl sink. “As the grand marshal of this annual event, I do hereby interrupt your high-spirited pageant through the streets of Priceville just long enough for youns to gobble up those flapjacks.”

Can’t you tell that I’m supposed to be Uncle Sam?

Where’s your white goatee?

There weren’t any cotton balls in the downstairs medicine cabinet.

Moments after the would-be vacuum cleaners sucked up the last of the hotcakes doused with sugary syrup and margarine, the female troupe members traded the hobby horses for a tea party with their baby dolls in the basement while this blue-eyed brownie raced back to his upstairs bedroom to create the infamous white goatee with the supplies given to him by the woman of the house.

A while later, I came back downstairs sporting the imitation facial hair to help the blond-haired minister and my lifelong roommate finish putting a brand-new grill together on the back porch with Curious George – our friendly Pomeranian – watching every move from his comfy bed in the corner.

Uncle Sam has finally decided to grace us with his presence.

“Here, I thought it was Father Christmas,” teased John after placing four plastic caps on the bottom of the barbecue cooker’s metal legs. “You’ll look like the real deal if you stuff a pillow underneath your t-shirt and trade that silly hat for a red one; but then you’d have to take your reindeer back to the North Pole until Christmas.”

Hardy har har!

“I’ve heard more than enough from the peanut gallery for one day,” scolded Dad once he secured the wooden handle to the top portion of the half-moon-shaped lid. “Why don’t you make yourself useful by asking your mother for a roll of tinfoil while your little brother and I go set up this new-fangled grill over near the picnic table.”

In the blink of an eye, I helped the tall slender woman and the girls set the plastic-covered table with all the fixings while the freckle-faced athlete assisted the grill master by placing sliced cheese on a few char-broiled burgers; after which we sat down together as a family and enjoyed the first of many cookouts in the shadow of the colossal red-brick building with stained glass windows.

Shortly after the community plate of burgers and hot dogs was emptied – along with all the other scrumptious offerings – which had been laid out for the holiday meal, the sun began to dip over the horizon, thereby casting a shadow over the mid-size industrial city north of Pittsburgh; whereupon my animated siblings and I broke out the sparklers for our own brand of entertainment.

The highlight of the evening took place when a cascade of dazzling fireworks – coming from Ewing Park in the distance – lit up the night sky just like “the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air” as mentioned in the lyrics of the Star-Spangled Banner; after which my little sisters and I climbed out the window at the top of the enclosed L-shaped staircase for a bird’s-eye view.

However, it was time to face a few pyrotechnics of a different kind upon hearing my full name as our little musical ensemble slipped back through the window from our rooftop perch.

In retrospect, my hindquarters would’ve been spared if only we had whispered the words to the national anthem instead of belting them out.