For as long as I can remember, I have always loved Independence Day. As a little girl growing up in Washington, D.C., the 4th of July meant backyard barbecues, fireworks and cousins. I have too many fond memories laced with grilled burgers and fries and jumping rope and riding bikes until darkness arrived. Then it was all about the fireworks. My dad would line us all up far away from the actual action and light up the sky for us. It was magical for me. It was a time of a child’s personal freedoms. This was small scale freedom, but freedom none-the-less.
As a teenager, the 4th of July meant piling into cars or taking the metro to watch the fireworks at the National Monument. Then it was all about the red, white and blue fashions and looking cute in your white hot pants. Seeing and being seen was the name of the game because the world was new and pregnant with possibilities.
While I was in college, hostages were taken and POWs were returned. American freedoms and independence on a national and even global scale became crystal clear to me. I married a naval officer and my whole word revolved around the sacrifices made for our collective freedoms and the freedoms of the oppressed all over the world… [READ THE REST HERE]