A Splash of Hopeful Light

Maybe you’ve flown over the American terrain at night on the 4th of July and observed those miniscule sprouts of fireworks dotting the landscape far below. You would have thought they were tiny globes of feathery marigold seeds, but then you remembered this is the kind of extravaganza that pops up across the land during that hour or two each year. At first their miniature size is a curiosity to you--how cool--but then you’re dismayed to realize this beloved annual fanfare can be shrunk to such a perspective.

Or maybe you’ve laid on a blanket underneath a massive firework display on a high school football field or a township park with the sound overtaking you from the sky above, the remnant ash falling like a summer snow on your nose and arms. It’s a jolt, isn’t it? What had just seemed so fantastically wonderous above you is now made simple and real on your face.

And what about a monumental city Independence Day show, with every resource given to the display for the tens or hundreds of thousands in attendance, the glare lighting the night sky for many miles in the distance? These are a spectacle, a pageantry for all to witness, even though the birds in the vicinity think it a dangerous scourge and have left for safer space.

This is the bigness and the smallness of celebration, at once a huge moment but then a tiny pebble of activity too, like our exuberance—meaningful inside, fleeting in time and space.

But fireworks aren’t a trifling demonstration. They’re magnificent, just like the ideals they celebrate, even despite our home quarrels of late, our concerns, our contention. To me, it’s heartening to know that all of us love the same thing or want to. I don’t think that’s pie in the sky. It’s a splash of hopeful light. Afterall, we all share one home. This one.

A Choreography of Awe

When I was young, 4th of July was quite the snazzy event. We’d celebrate it most often at the lake in Pennsylvania that I often write about. But sometimes we’d go into Philadelphia across the river from our home in NJ which was also where this American experiment was born, which you well know. At the lake, the fireworks were set off in the nearby town of Forest City. In Philly, they were set off along the Schuylkill River. I preferred them both, not one over the other in terms of beauty or magic.

We’d eat ice cream or snacks and lay back to enjoy the show. Isn’t it a marvel, a firework display? There is a choreography of light, color, and juxtaposition. While I don’t love the noise of it, like anyone I’m awed by the vision of floral light dancing in the sky. No matter who you are, you ooh and ahh.

One year, my husband and I took the subway train from our apartment in Brooklyn, NY over to the east side of Manhattan. There, along the Hudson River, the city’s firework display would be set off into the night sky, which unfortunately in NYC resembles dusk. We made our way from the subway station, through the throngs of people, to a spot that seemed plush. It had a person’s width of space in all directions.

This was my first NYC fireworks event I’d been to. It was like other big city displays I’d seen except for one feature: the sound waves of the pyrotechnics reverberated off the city buildings in a sound that will startle the uninitiated. Their cement skin absorbed the chaos, but their glass expanses rattled. It was as if the buildings had come alive. You suddenly knew them from another dimension. There was a chorus of echoes coming from all around us, one high-rise apartment or office building after the other. At first, it was a little shocking. Each time an entire facade of glass would shake with noise, we’d gasp, turning our heads to see if anything had broken. It seemed at any moment the building’s glass would to crash to the ground in a terrible misfortune. It never did.

A Celebration of People

Growing up, my big extended family would gather at my grandparents’ lake house for the 4th. There might be a pig roasting on a spit that the men would crowd around with beer in hand to take turns cranking. There might be cooked frog legs piled on a plate, kielbasa, perogies, corn-on-the-cob, and fresh blueberry pies. There’d be soda, too, which during my childhood was a delicacy.

On the night of the 4th, we’d drive five miles to Forest City, the town where my grandparents grew up and where so many of their family still resided. It was a big visit fest. We’d see great aunts and uncles, cousins of all persuasions (first, second, third). And we’d smooth out my grandmother’s old full-size bedspreads on the grass of the municipal park where the town converged to see the fireworks. I’ve seen some unbelievable fireworks displays over the years, but there were none I loved more than that rural town’s annual show.

Everyone I loved would be crowded together there. My siblings and cousins would be on the bedspread beside me, laying like a cozy brood together. Maybe we’d be gnawing on our Tootsie pops. The air would be cool, and the time of night would be a big excitement. Everybody was happy then, no arguments or contention. Everybody, no matter how much was on their mind or how much was on their plate, would stare in happy awe at the sky. Adults would be as surprised as the children to see the eye-popping show.

On July 4th of last year, when the folks in my house weren’t too interested in venturing out for fireworks, and Covid was still on everybody’s minds, I decided to drive the few miles down the road to a local shopping center that has a multi-story parking garage. The top floor of the garage is open to the air, and I thought it’d be possible to see the various townships’ fireworks in panorama from there. It was certainly worth a try.

As I slowly steered my car to the top floor, I noticed I wasn’t the only one with this idea. Two cars had arrived before me, and then one after. It was a big viewing area with a handful of people, so we collected near each other by one of the edges of the garage. At first folks were quiet and kept to themselves, but I cracked the ice. We then chatted with each other, making an in-person stranger connection. Given the year prior, it felt luxurious and foreign at once.

Then the fireworks started to go off in the distance, first in one direction, then another. We figured out together from recognizable landmarks which township’s display we were watching. It was a mapping exercise and a celebration, and it was a quietly ceremonious way to spend the 4th of July. We were a tiny band of people who’d thought to venture out to find a small serving of the day’s hoopla. It was peaceful.

A Collective Pursuit

I’m not blind to the fighting in the air lately. It makes me as sad as anyone. Folks will ask my take on things, and I usually tell them that, one, I’m not an expert on anything, but two, I learned something from my dear neighbor a few years back. She said to me, ‘Stephanie, what can you truly do?” Meaning: what role can I play, and after that, don’t give it such useless berth in my ruminations.

This is a positive concept: do what you can and leave the rest. I know the 12-Step folks have something tangentially similar: Essentially, take what you can use, then leave the rest. It’s an ancient bit of wisdom, too. The concept has been around for a while, which tells me that the struggle between living and fretting has, too.

Perhaps my favorite part of watching fireworks on the 4th is that wherever you go it’s a venue for all of us. All kinds of us, all walks, brands, identities, with all the various dreams and needs, but nevertheless needs and dreams across the board.

Sometimes folks will point to the way tragedy can bring people together. Re: 9/11. But I notice how something beautiful like fireworks can bring folks together, too—in appreciation, enjoyment, and awe. A collective pursuit of happiness, which isn’t pie in the sky, but a real flash of illumination. It’s long been understood that the positive and inspiring is far more effective at building something worthwhile than the negative and fraught. I will think of this on our beloved American holiday this summer because it'll bring a smile to my lips and a sense of why a free people is ultimately worth it.