As the calendar pages turn towards July, a familiar tension begins to build in my solidly middle-class neighborhood. It’s not the anticipation of barbecues and parades, not entirely. It’s the low, rumbling dread of what’s to come: the unofficial, unsanctioned and utterly unhinged celebration of American independence.
In the days leading up to the Fourth of July and for a good few days after, my usually quiet street transforms. My neighbors, many of whom I’ve reluctantly come to mentally label as “hoodlum rednecks” (a term I use with a sigh, not a sneer, born of sheer exhaustion), seem to possess an arsenal that would make a modern Army platoon blush. They detonate more explosives than a small nation at war and they do it at seemingly random times of day. And night. There’s truly nothing quite like being jolted awake at two in the morning by a massive explosion, your heart pounding, wondering if that concussive blast outside your window warrants an emergency response or a psychiatric intervention.
Then comes the morning of July 5th. As an early riser, I often hit the bike trails to escape the lingering haze of gunpowder and regret. What I find is a landscape of post-apocalyptic revelry: tons of debris – plastic, cardboard, spent casings – from the previous night’s festivities. And, more alarmingly, the tell-tale scorched circles and blackened patches of grass where fireworks inevitably got out of control. It’s a stark, sobering tableau of celebration gone awry.
Fireworks debris, from Cascadia Daily News
And there’s another, increasingly prevalent, issue: the rise of drunken revelry. While a celebratory drink is one thing, the sheer volume of intoxication that accompanies some of these Fourth of July celebrations leads to an amazing, and frankly, disgusting, amount of damage. This ranges from the random bodily fluid blowouts discovered on lawns and sidewalks (yes, really) to the more catastrophic consequences of impaired driving, resulting in cars wrapped around trees, often taking out other vehicles in their destructive wake.
Drive Smart Nebraska Campaign
All of this leaves me with a persistent, nagging question, one that echoes louder with each premature bang and each piece of litter: Is this what our Founding Fathers truly envisioned as the celebration of our country’s founding?
I try to imagine John Adams, penning a letter to Abigail, describing the future of American festivity. Would he speak of skies ablaze with uncontrolled pyrotechnics, shaking the very foundations of homes at ungodly hours? Would Thomas Jefferson, in his quiet contemplation, foresee a nation celebrating its intellectual and political liberation with widespread public intoxication and property destruction? Would Benjamin Franklin, ever the pragmatist, nod approvingly at the sheer waste of resources, the environmental blight and the strain on emergency services?
Picture this: 1776, Philadelphia. Thomas Jefferson leans back in his chair, quill in hand, wiping ink from his fingers, as he pens the final lines of the Declaration of Independence. John Adams walks in, pausing to admire the document before saying, “Tom, you know what this calls for? Barely regulated explosives, public intoxication and someone vomiting on a flaming slip-n-slide in a Walmart parking lot! Should we write it in?”
It’s safe to say that didn’t happen. Yet here we are.
Writing the Declaration of Independence, 1776, by Jean Leon Gerome Ferris
The Fourth of July is supposed to commemorate the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, a bold thoughtful stand for liberty and self-governance, rooted in reason, justice and human dignity. It was a turning point in the history of the world, the birth of a new nation, an experiment in democracy. But as I weave through my neighborhood on July 5th dodging firework debris, spotting blackened patches of scorched lawn and noting the charred remnants of Roman candles like some post-battle historian, I can’t help but wonder: What happened to the reverence?
The spirit of 1776 was one of profound thought, courageous debate and a deep, if sometimes flawed, commitment to principles of liberty, self-governance and the pursuit of a more perfect union. The Declaration of Independence, the very document we celebrate, is not a call to chaotic abandon. It’s a meticulously reasoned argument for freedom, a testament to the power of ideas and a solemn pledge of lives, fortunes and sacred honor.
While John Adams famously predicted that Independence Day would be celebrated with “pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other,” I believe his vision was one of ordered celebration, of communal joy and a respectful remembrance of the immense sacrifice involved. He envisioned citizens uniting in gratitude and shared purpose, not descending into a cacophony of random explosions and dangerous recklessness. The “illuminations” he spoke of were likely grand, controlled displays, not backyard arsenals threatening life and limb.
Our independence was hard-won, built on the ideals of self-control, civic responsibility and the collective good. It was about establishing a society where rights were protected and order prevailed, allowing for the flourishing of individuals and communities. To celebrate this profound legacy with actions that endanger our neighbors, pollute our shared spaces and strain our public services feels, to me, deeply antithetical to the very principles we claim to honor.
So, as we approach this Fourth of July, I want to urge everyone reading this to celebrate responsibly. Stay safe, be mindful of your neighbors, your environment and the laws designed to protect us all. But most importantly, take a moment to truly remember the actual meaning of Independence Day. It’s a day to reflect on the ideals of liberty, the responsibilities that come with freedom and the ongoing work required to build a more just and perfect society. Let our celebrations be a testament to our values, not a chaotic caricature of them. After all, freedom isn’t just the right to party. It’s the right to be better.