Independence Day Memories

Shaved ice, fireworks, and keeping all ten fingers.

The Fourth of July has always felt like the peak of summer to me. Officially, of course, it is Independence Day, the day the Declaration of Independence was adopted, and the American colonies declared themselves independent of England. Unofficially, it is also the day every company in America tries to convince you that liberty is best expressed through limited-edition packaging.

But beyond the marketing campaigns, the Fourth brings back memories for me. As a child, summer was three months of freedom from school. The Fourth almost marked the halfway point between grades, the summit of summer before the slow descent back toward pencils, lunch trays, and assigned seating. The day itself felt like one big holiday, usually spent with school friends at a park for the first time since getting out for the summer, or with flavored ice in hand. And there were always fireworks to look forward to at the end of the day.

There was 2010, when I spent the Fourth in Carbondale, Illinois. It was a rough summer. Both my Grandpa Soderstrom and Uncle Tom had passed away just a few days apart. Earlier that summer, I had driven from Lincoln to Indianapolis to visit my grandfather one last time before he died, though by then he could not recognize me. After he passed, my uncle died while driving up from Texas to help plan the funeral.

That Fourth, while I was with my mother’s side of the family grieving the loss, we spent the day in the town where they had all grown up. We drank beer, relaxed in backyard pools, and watched the city fireworks display from the lake. We were also near the site of one of the Lincoln-Douglas debates in Jonesboro, Illinois.

I had taken Lincoln-Douglas debate in high school, though I would not say it was one of my strongest skills. History was probably safer with me as an observer. Still, I remember walking from my uncle’s girlfriend’s house to the spot where the debate had taken place. In that moment, I felt pride. I doubt the rest of my family cared, and none of them visited the historic site. They probably did not even realize that Douglas had defeated Lincoln, or that the debates were for the Illinois Senate. Admittedly, that is not the kind of information that improves a family cookout.

Another memory is from 2018, when I spent the entire day in Seward with my future wife. If you ever drive past Seward, Nebraska, you will see that it claims to be the Fourth of July Capital of the World. I cannot say whether it is truly the holiday capital of the world, but maybe it is for Nebraska. Residents of Lincoln, the actual capital city in Nebraska, all seem to migrate 30 miles west to Seward that day, temporarily surrendering their potential profits to eating funnel cakes and sitting on folding chairs.

There was a parade, shaved ice, funnel cakes, and classic cars. We also had quite an experience at their Godfather’s Pizza. While we were there, the servers brought each pizza order to the people sitting at the table, except ours. Because of that, we have never eaten at another Godfather’s Pizza. Some grudges are petty. Some are sacred.

After eating, we got to the park early to take in the fireworks, but Mother Nature decided to open the faucet instead of letting the show end. Even though the day finished with a powerful thunderstorm, it had been very enjoyable. But I would probably say all days spent with my wife have been a delight.

Then there was 2008. I had a lot of bowling balls sitting around, so we decided to see if fireworks could damage them. This is the sort of scientific inquiry that teenage boys conduct when left insufficiently supervised. We tried to put all the fireworks into one big blast, but were surely disappointed when they did not make even a dent in the bowling ball. I guess fireworks can blow off a finger, but they probably only leave a scorch mark on anything harder. It really puts into perspective how fragile humans are, which is not usually the lesson advertised on fireworks packaging.

We ended up using those bowling balls later that summer for a hide-and-seek game in the Platte River. It was probably the last summer when I was simply off and had no real responsibilities. However, I had worked almost every summer since sixth grade. From sixth through tenth grade, the Fourth was just another workday in the cornfields with many of my classmates, detasseling. That was an experience in and of itself, and one that did not need fireworks to feel dangerous.

And lastly, there was the memory of spending last year on the University of Delaware campus. It was bittersweet, as it marked that we only had one week left before we left Delaware for the western frontier. While living in Newark, we walked through campus nearly every day, so watching the fireworks show from there, knowing we were about to leave, felt meaningful.

The University of Delaware is one of the most historic and beautiful campuses in the country. They ensure that The Green remains much as it did when it was first constructed, and the university itself is older than the country. We lived just a few blocks from campus, and we walked through it daily. We saw it in rain, snow, spring, autumn, and summer. Ending our time there, so close to a fireworks show, was memorable. I do hope that maybe one day our daughter will be a Blue Hen herself.

This Fourth, we do not have much planned. Being in Chadron, we have had a year full of fires burning all around us. There was the Morrill Fire, which burned more than half a million acres to the south of us. There was the fire near Custer. And there have been two fires only about 20 miles west of us in Crawford: the South Fork Fire, which was contained, and the Log Road Fire, which started this week after another rainless thunderstorm.

With extreme dryness in the region and many communities putting up signs reading “Pray for Rain,” the outlook is not good for a fireworks show. To be fair, I am perfectly happy with that. I do not need endless banging to remind me I am an American. I hated it when people in Lincoln would shoot off fireworks every time Nebraska scored in football. We all had televisions. We could see the game. The loud crack did not add meaningful analysis.

Maybe that is part of me getting older. Or maybe it is a new theory in my life, such as my ketchup-to-mustard ratio theory. Or maybe it is part of living somewhere that has been dry enough for prayer signs to feel less like decoration and more like public policy. Either way, fireworks feel a little different this year.

In truth, I would rather see those resources invested in programs that help children, create after-school opportunities, feed people experiencing poverty, and support communities in more lasting ways. But I know there are many Americans who would rather see millions spent on flashing lights that last less than an hour. To be fair, you could probably ask AI to generate a fireworks show, put it on a loop, blare a patriotic playlist on your favorite streaming platform, and have a better experience. It would be less buggy, for sure.

However, I would miss the other things about the Fourth. I love when the Fourth feels like summer, and the community coming together. While fireworks are a nice bonus at times, maybe they have become like other American things, overdone. And maybe, this Fourth, without fireworks, will be one of the better Fourths I’ll witness.

The Fourth has always marked summer for me, and the day brings back memories. As it gets closer, I will probably be flooded with more of them, such as watching fireworks while lying on a blanket at Brickyard Park in Hastings, flying over the country as fireworks are being shot off from city to city, and seeing fireworks from the highway during a summer trip.

I hope to bring some of those memories to my daughter. I hope her summers are filled with shaved ice, maybe less-noisy fireworks, beaches, and keeping all ten fingers.