Once, when I was probably five or six, we were flying from Bangladesh back to the US for the summer. We'd stopped in London on the way.
I don't imagine many, if any, of you have ever flown from Dhaka, Bangladesh to Minot, North Dakota. It was a long ass trip. With many connections.
We were supposed to be in Minot with my favorite grandmother for Independence Day. Which, being kids who kept being told we were American but never having lived in America, felt like a Big Deal. This was our holiday. The one that proved that we were American. In retrospect, I cannot even recall what that meant to us.
In any case, we somehow missed the flight. Our previous flight got way delayed, or we missed a connection or two - something happened to cause us to miss our plane on July 3rd. And so we wound up flying on the 4th rather than being in the US celebrating.
We were flying British Airways. I wanted to be picnicking with my gramma Lillian. I wanted to watch fireworks. And instead, I was stuck in a dumb old plane. And not even an American one at that.
I had a little meltdown. Sobbing. "I bet these British people don't even know it's the 4th of July!"
Anyway, I wish you all a happy, healthy 4th. And a special one to Justin and the rest of our troops. Stay safe.
And for any of you who play with fireworks, just remember - it's all fun and games till somebody loses an eye.