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Family fireworks Another Glorious FourthBy Rick Horowitz
Uncle Earl's got his arms folded over his chest like he's just daring someone to say otherwise, and his jaw is sticking out like anyone who even thinks about it is looking for a licking.
"No way, no how!" is Uncle Earl's first and last statement on the subject, the subject being the idea of inviting the whole family over, same as every year, to celebrate the Fourth of July.
"Leave him be," Aunt Minerva says. "He's just cranky is all." Cranky being Uncle Earl's natural demeanor, only double for the holidays, and double again for one holiday in particular: the Fourth of July.
Which is the one thing Uncle Earl never calls it: plain old "Fourth of July." A special day deserves a special name, he always says. So it's always "The Glorious Fourth."
As in "C'mon over to our place for the Glorious Fourth!"
As in "Your kids'll never forgive you if you're anywhere else on the Glorious Fourth!"
As in "If I'm fool enough to throw another Glorious Fourth, you oughta be smart enough to be there!"
Of course, that's Uncle Earl in May, and June, and even the first couple of days in July. Ahead of time he's always excited about it, always convinced it'll be the best party anyone's ever had, and not just here in the county either.
Which is how the problem always starts -- Uncle Earl's dreams getting ahead of him, and the rest of us left to suffer for it. Last year, for instance. That was the one that did it for him, even though it wasn't lots worse than the year before or the year before that.
It certainly started OK. Uncle Earl had been putting the word out for months -- he wasn't about to have anyone say they'd already made other plans. And if that meant inviting folks before there were even leaves on the trees, that was fine with him. So comes the Fourth and there they were, all 200-odd of them spread out in the backyard and Uncle Earl playing host to every last one.
"Greetings and salutations on a Glorious Fourth!" he boomed over and over again, and whenever he felt the urge, he'd throw in "The Glorious Fourth -- Wellspring of Democracy!" just for good measure. He was quite the sight, all done up in his special Uncle Sam getup including the top hat, and starred and striped to beat the band. There was more food than anybody knew what to do with, and every last bit of it was likewise starred and striped, or at least done up red, white and blue, which worked just fine for Uncle Earl's famous Double-Berry Whipped Cream Delite, and less fine for his Cheese-Noodle Freedom Casserole, and not so fine at all for his Flame-Grilled Independence Burgers with the special pickle relish.
"Don't believe I've ever seen meat this color before!" That was Cousin Averill, who used to sell cars on the radio and knew a thing or two about booming himself. The first time he said it, Uncle Earl just ignored him. The second time, Uncle Earl turned around from clear across the yard and fixed Cousin Averill with that stare of his and shouted right back, "Shut your mouth and eat!" Which maybe wasn't the cleverest thing in the world to say, but Uncle Earl was probably already on edge, he and Cousin Averill having had at it a time or two before on the Fourth of July, and Cousin Averill naturally inclined to make Uncle Earl feel low and foolish for the sheer sport of it.
This time, though, Cousin Averill just smiled and walked away, walked clear out of the yard and down the street and into his car, which suited Uncle Earl just fine. He was glad to be rid of him. He didn't realize it was only temporary. And he certainly didn't see the big plastic bag Cousin Averill was lugging when he came back, or hear all the whispering.
So then, an hour or so later, after everyone had eaten all they could stuff into themselves and the tablecloths were all rolled up and brought inside, it was finally time for Uncle Earl's holiday oration. This year's version was called "America -- Land of Hope, Land of Dreams, Friend to the World and Shiner of Liberty's Lamp Practically Everywhere," and Uncle Earl had been writing it in dribs and drabs since August. It ran 22 pages single-spaced.
He only got as far as the first sentence. He started up the way he started up every year: "Friends," he'd always say, "what makes today such a special day?"
And that's when it happened: 200 kazoos playing "Jingle Bells" -- first from over in the corner, over to Uncle Earl's right, then from the other side toward the back, and then, by the time they got to "Oh what fun," from pretty much everybody everywhere. Uncle Earl smiled that crooked smile of his, and tried to start over from the beginning.
"Friends!" he said again, but the kazoos just got louder. He decided to wait them out -- "Jingle Bells" wasn't that long a song. But as soon as the chorus was through, the verse began, and as soon as the verse was done, there was another chorus, and another verse, and another chorus, and Uncle Earl just standing there all the while, that crooked smile of his getting more crooked every minute until it just disappeared altogether, and Uncle Earl not far behind.
"That tears it!" he shouted when they'd all gone dashing through the snow for the eleventh time. "It'll be a cold day in Hades before I ever do this again!" And he stomped out of his own yard, his own celebration, and that's the last time he ever said a word about the Glorious Fourth until today.
"Leave him be," Aunt Minerva says again. "If he doesn't want to throw a party, he doesn't have to throw a party." She's absolutely right.
Plus she sent the invites out in April.
Posted 6/28/05. Every day is a holiday when you click to "Rick's"! For fireworks -- and award-winning writing -- all year long, "Rick's" is the place.
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Rick Horowitz
