So, holidays and family are kind of weird for me. I grew up as part of a family that always made a huge to do about the holidays. At times it was tiring, because there always seemed to be a fight at our house about how to spend any holiday, at others, it was a blast.
While I'm not particularly patriotic, the Fourth of July was always a special holiday growing up. Among the many components of the perfect Fourth were the trips to one or more fireworks stands, burning sparklers and snakes all over my Grandma Beeman's walkway, running in and out of the house after big glasses of instant iced tea, fried sun perch and blue gill, and homemade ice cream.
It wasn't a successful event if I hadn't eaten enough to almost be sick, there hadn't been at least one near encounter with a copperhead or water moccasin, and so many fireworks that it seemed like it would take days for all of the smoke to clear.
Those wonderful Fourths ended about 20 years ago for me, when my stepfather and my mom divorced. It was an easy trade-off. I'd rather have my life (literally) as those fish fries, but I still miss sitting at the big red picnic table my grandfather built, and listening to all of the ruckous of family everywhere.
People often look at the things that Jeph and I do and think we're living the life. And in many ways, we are. I wouldn't trade being able to jump in the car and road trip to see U2 this Tuesday night for much of anything. I wouldn't trade the four trips we've made to Ireland in the last ten years (well, maybe one of them). I wouldn't stop going to eat in restaurants, going on trips or seeing movies by myself when I really want to go for anything either. And because of all the freedom I have in my life to do all of these things, I wouldn't trade my husband for anyone. But in living the life we live that other people might want, just like everyone else, we sometimes see the holes nobody else sees.
Jeph's good friend, Angela, invited us to her family's Fourth of July barbecue. I'm not much of a social butterfly, and acclimating to a slew of strangers is never an easy or comfortable prospect for me. I am the classic wallflower. I always worry about that, because I think that makes me seem aloof, when I'm anything but that. I'm also always sure that I won't have anything to talk about with anyone, which will make my uncomfortable awkwardness even more obvious.
In spite of all of these apprehensions, we went. It was the closest thing to my former family's Fourth of July celebrations I've had in forever. There were children running around and being obnoxiously loud and violent. Menfolk sat around and talked about the things that menfolk sit around and talk about. Others grilled and served. Women chatted about what their kids were up to and about the recent tornado just thirty short minutes south. The pool was full, until the rain started and the festivities had to be moved indoors.
And when the tell-tale bucket was brought to the edge of the patio carrying the one thing that I remember most about the Fourth celebrations of my family, I felt myself tearing up a bit. My cousins and I used to take turns cranking the ice cream maker, and adding rock salt and ice when we were kids. It was years before my grandparents bought an electric one--and only then so we could have more than one flavor and not have to wait so long. Seeing that bucket at the edge of the patio was like a gentle whisper in the cool breeze that came up with the sudden thundershower that broke out--"you can still have a home."
It seems like a crazy thing to take away from a bucket of vanilla ice cream, but it's no more crazy than when I tell friends that they can jump in a car or a plane and go someplace they've never been and not to be afraid.
I long ago accepted that my family was irrevocably altered by the years of abuse in my household and the broken minds of the family I had been a part of. But even with that acceptance, the longing is ever-present.
We all long for something. No matter how great our lives are, there's always some underlying secret or even publicly disclosed wish that somehow seems always to be just out of our reach.
I often don't think of it as sharing, but what I do right here in this virtual space is giving a piece of what I have to people who don't live the same life I do. Just in the same way Angela so easily gave Jeph and me a piece of the life she lives with her family.
Life's short. Everyone should try to go after the things in their lives that they really long for and most desire. But in lieu of dropping everything you're doing that can't be dropped, look to the friend next to you and accept the piece of those dreams they want to share. It's worth it.
http://youtu.be/qkk5wViJo-I
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