Fourth of July

American holidays change when you are living in a different country. Mostly, people don't even know it is a holiday for you. For everyone else, it's simply a normal day. But in the age of technology where most of my communication home rests upon Facebook updates, emails, tweets and Skype, I was constantly reminded that yesterday was, indeed, the Fourth of July. Now I didn't forget that it was, but somewhere in my mind I wanted to pretend that it didn't exist. That yesterday was just a normal Monday and nothing special was happening. People all over my Facebook feed were updating with pictures of parades, fireworks, yummy American BBQ*, and all of the things that I have associated with the 4th since I was born.

*"BBQ" = hamburgers, hot dogs, cole slaw, chips, beer, steak, corn on the cob... all that yummy stuff that I missed yesterday

The thing is that the 4th isn't the first holiday that I've spent away from the USA. The first was Easter. But the connotation of Easter isn't as strong as the one of the 4th, for me. When I think about Easter, it's just my whole family sitting around at my Grandma's house waiting for the ham and then eating. But the Fourth of July is something totally different.

When I was younger, my entire family would come over my house - grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends. Everyone would walk to the parade, sit on the blankets and reap the rewards (candies) of fighting the other kids on the street for the handouts. Then we would return to my house, eat food, talk, swim, play Bocce Ball and basketball. My driveway would be full of cars, spilling out into the street. Kids would be running everywhere, the older ones keeping track of the younger ones. I specifically remember one 4th where my cousin ran over my Ken doll repeatedly with his bike and ever since then, my Ken had scraps all over his manly plastic chest.

When night fell, the entire neighborhood came out and blew off fireworks. We would all sit in my front lawn and watch the fireworks from the Fairgrounds. During the "ground shows," my dad and my uncles would take turns shooting off our own fireworks. It was always a spectacular holiday, full of family, food, fun, laughter... and capped off by being able to write my name in the dark night sky by using a sparkler as the ink.

As I grew older, the number of people dwindled until it just became my immediate family. And I was ok with that. It was a day of relaxation -- we still swam in the pool, my dad still took us to get hundreds of dollars worth of fireworks, we still bbq'ed. It slowly but surely became my favorite holiday.

But this year was different. I wasn't home for the 4th. I didn't get to see my dad blow off fireworks and almost set the tree on fire like always (except for the year when he actually did set it on fire). I didn't get to sit on the back deck eating steak and hoping that the flies would stay away long enough.

Even though I missed all of that, in my heart I was there.