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Happy Birthday, America. I hope you all had a great Independence Day.

I was on the phone with a friend earlier and was asked what I thought at the time was a strange question. We were talking about the fireworks; he and his wife were going to watch it on television "for the ninth year in a row", and he asked me:

"So what's the big deal about the fireworks anyway? Why do people watch them?"

?!?

Obviously, he's not from around these here parts. Born in China, here in the US for...well, about 10 years. My instant response was to compare it to the fireworks on Chinese New Year, to which I got a non-commital "oh". But the question has been on the brain all night. What is the big deal with the fireworks?

Sure I can tell you why we do it; it's reminscent of the battle for our independence, the explosions of cannon fire and mortar fired back and forth by our founding fathers and the british troops. "And the rockets red glare...the bombs bursting in air...gave proof through the night that our flag was still there". Kudos to Mr. Francis Scott Key, and kudos to my elementary school teachers (go public school!) for this stuff sticking with me through the years.

But why do we go goo-goo over them, every single year? Or do we anymore?

I gotta tell you, folks; I do. Every year. I'm just not happy unless I'm watching some fireworks, some place, for the 4th of July. It seems wrong otherwise.

Maybe it's because I grew up in a typically American household, when it came to the holiday. Every year we'd pile up into my grandfather's station wagon and go...someplace. Bear Mountain, or Tallman Mountain. Or, in the really good years, Asbury Park, or Rye Playland. It'd be my grands, aunts, cousins, my mom, sisters...I swear we fit 20 people in that old-ass station wagon, with us kids piled up in the back facing the road and trying not to get too crammed up in a corner.

I remember this one year, we'd stayed here in the city. A bunch of us walked across the Concourse in the Bronx (where I lived at the time) to Fransiego Park (it probably isn't spelled that way, but who cares) right across from Cardinal Hayes High School. It was a cheap-ass park, favored by the crack-heads just a few blocks down on Jerome, but it had a softball field which for our neighborhood was an oasis.

So it's getting dark, and this year instead of shooting off the fireworks from the Stadium (there's only one that matters) they were going to do it from the park. They set up the fireworks in the outfield, and we were all lined up on the other side of the chain link fence blocking off the field, up on a little hill looking down on the diamond. Surprisingly it wasn't that crowded. Or maybe I was just too excited, and didn't care; hell I was, what, 12? 13?

They started firing off those displays, and we lay there on the grass looking up at the sky, watching the fireworks and doing our part with the ooohs, and ahhhs...then the embers started coming down.

I know they were safe, I know - and knew then - that they weren't actually coming down around us...but damned if it didn't look like they were! We were scared and excited and thrilled at the same time; all us kids just ran around, our hands over our ears while trying to "dodge" the falling embers. It was like magical rain pouring down from the sky, fire sprinkled over us but never actually touching us.

When it was over we just lay there, catching our breath, laughing at each other's cowardice and pretending we weren't scared ourselves.

It was a blast.

And maybe that's why I still still marvel at the fireworks, I look for them so I can smile, and go "ooh" and "ahh". Because it evokes so many good memories.

Hope you all had a few good ones of your own :)