Looking Forward to, and Looking Back at, the Fourth

July the 4th, 1976 in the small Illinois town of Downers Grove, which is so much like Norcross, I was 16 years old and celebrating my country’s 200th BIRTHDAY!

Our town was so patriotic that we spent the entire year leading up to that 4th, transforming the city’s fire hydrants into 1776 notables. With a little red, white and blue paint, our church, scout and school groups turned the plugs into Betsy Ross, Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. On the day, the big eyes of the stern patriarchs watched as flags, banners, and balloons adorned the fronts of homes, banks, bakeries, churches and drugstores.

Still clearly pictured in my mind, the parade moved north to south down Main Street, crossing the train tracks at the depot. A community of cowboys on horseback, fireman latched onto their fire trucks and families, neighbors and serviceman loaded onto the beds of trucks or wagons rolled past.

The high school band played "Yankee Doodle" as they marched. Costumed babies rode in strollers licking firecracker popsicles, and clowns tethered balloons shaped like stars or firecrackers. The finale came in the character of Uncle Sam, our local insurance man, up on stilts, of course. His striped silk pants flapped and snapped as he strode long, slow steps down the center of the street.

So reminiscent of our "3rd of July" celebrations here in Norcross, we set up our lawn chairs and spread our blankets in the yards of each front row house along the path. We waved little flags on sticks from the storefronts, church steps and front porches.

Uncle Sam marched with the fife and bugle corps comprised of four young men, costumed in tattered uniforms of wars long over. One limped as he tapped out the beat on his snare drum. One limped using a rifle for a crutch. The next one piped his woodwind. The last one held up the flag from his belt. As they passed, each block of boisterous spectators spontaneously hushed in respect.

We each took that moment to honor the fallen and recall the sacrifices of those we would never know. Even as a teenager, I was keenly aware of my feelings of pride and appreciation for the souls who died allowing us a moment of enthusiastic freedom.

That 1976 Fourth of July was wonderful for me. I will not live long enough to experience the ‘tri-centennial’ of 2076; luckily my words may,  letting the stories be told, old to young, that death is the daily price some pay for our cherished freedom and our ability to freely express it.

Happy Fourth of July.

Editor's note: This essay originally appeared in Norcross, Ga., Patch.