Times change. I lost my grandpa when I was only 10. My parents saw the need to relieve my grandma from the traditional burden. The campout was disbanded, and the barbecue was officially moved to my backyard.
Aunt DeAnn was – and is – the hero of the 4th. Not because she introduced Bowling-Ball-Drop to us, but because she paid attention to us. DeAnn could be serious and fun, and she told us stories and jokes and listened to our problems.
We made s’mores with stale Peeps, and we had water fights until we were soaked. Daph and I would sprawl out on the driveway to dry off, moving just in time for dad to light more fireworks. I still liked the light fountains and sparklers and spinning flowers.
We all grew up. I’m not sure when or how, but I learned something from watching my parents. I hoped I could be like them someday, taking over when they felt tired or when one of them was alone.
I still can’t imagine that. Not in a million lifetimes.
