1999. July 4. our 25th anniversary. Jody was home from Brandeis, Adam from AHS. Rather than doing something special i opted for our annual family together tradition of going to the Independence Day Dodger game and fireworks.
How fucking stupid could i be. (not a question) To say Phyl was disappointed doesn’t come close. Maybe dispirited or crestfallen or one of her favorite words, woebegone. You know Phyllis. She did not remind me 1000 times. But close. And i certainly deserved it. Moving west; losing the baby shoes; July 4, 1999 was right up there. i was and am so-o sorry. But even those worst days were the best days of my life. i miss you like crazy, Cuckoo.
Here’s the story Jody wrote that night….
Most people celebrate the 4th of July as the birth of our country, the day, in 1776, we seceded from Britain to become a nation of peace with “freedom and equality for all.” I also observe this day as my parents’ anniversary. A lot of Bennett family birthdays, anniversaries, and celebrations occur on holidays. Whether these coincidental multi-celebrations are created unintentionally or they are, in fact, deliberate attempts to help our more ancient ancestors remember key dates in their children’s lives, I prefer to believe the former, because the latter might imply that my father, being born on the biggest of all Christian holidays, might have some direct ties to The Almighty. That simple little thought has caused the fear that 1000 years of peace in the future might be overlooked, because Goldberg is fighting Hulk Hogan on WWF Monday Night Nitro.
My own 4th started out when Dad took the family out to a 4th of July brunch buffet in good old Agoura. We arrived, walked up, and found we were there a half-hour before the place opened. A minute and a half later, my Mom announced the her feet were killing her. After sitting in the car for 20 minutes, arguing and complaining about each other (my mother issuing such compliments/insults as “I hope you are famous one day, Jody.” “Ummm…thanks, mom,” I say, “me too.” Mom continues, “if only you weren’t so conceited.”) They finally let us inside to feast upon omelettes and dishes made in front of our watering mouths. There was a big table of bacon, sausage, ham, and a young lady with a tight t-shirt cutting and serving roasted chicken. I believe it was Adam who noted, “That young lady has some nice breasts.” (if that one eludes you, how about this?…) I personally didn’t find the chicken breasts very appealing, but she did have a nice rack…..of lamb. Momentarily the fighting stopped, long enough to toast my parents. But sadly, I had to drive to work, so I could flip burgers and apply heat to pre-heated, re-refrigerated pizzas shaped like a mouse head, all for the honor and glory of Corporate Disney.
There are 2 types of workers at Disney. Those who become excited when a new animated feature comes out, worship a talking mouse, idolize billionaire-globalmaster-owner of everything that is, Michael Eisner, and go into euphoric hysterics every time a new Donald Duck beanie baby comes out. Then, there are those, like me who could care less about a 6 foot rat and only smile when we receive our paychecks. ‘We’ refer to work as Mouse-shwitz. ‘They’ think a funny story revolves around spending 3 hours searching for a car in the Chip-lot, when it was actually in the Dale-lot.
There is one tried-and-true 4th of July tradition in our family. The 4th of July Dodger game/Fireworks show. I admit I love baseball. I don’t follow it or anything….but it is one of the very few sports I love. Maybe because I always played Pony-ball as a kid, or maybe because it’s the most unique sport in the world. Most sports revolve around getting the ball away from the other team. In this sport, one hits the ball as far away as possible, then runs away from home, only to return later. It encourages individuality in the batter’s box as well as teamwork in the field. And it is the American Pastime. Of course, tonight Dad opted to skip the game and just get there in time for the fireworks, so the previous part was kind of useless.
As I sat on the outfield grass, with the music blasting and the wondrous colors around me, I could only ask myself, why the birth of our nation of peace is celebrated with big explosions, as if to say. “America’s been kickin ass since 1776.” Why do they play “Born in the USA” when it’s an anti-war song? While I am wondering why I am caught up in the old glory, and “Proud to Be an American”, my arrogance is humbled before the men who have died defending us. John Adams said, “I may not believe in what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” I may have mis-quoted a bit, but it’s what really makes me oooh and ahhh at the blazing colors in the sky.
I saw something else beautiful that night. There were 3 big bursts. A red U, a white S, and a blue A. Adam thought it was the coolest part of the day. But, when I saw it, I turned to tell my parents, and saw my father move a stray hair from my mom’s cheek and kiss her. That was the coolest part of the day.
