The Bombs Bursting in Air
I went to the waterfront today and awaited the start of the fireworks display. For as long as I can remember, my family and I would always travel to see the 4th of July fireworks. It was a day to tell stories and appreciate the sacrifices made -- sacrifices for a better future those generation didn't get to see but fought for because they believed their ideals were right, because they saw the potential for change, and because they understood life is beyond ourselves.
The tradition stopped when I started going to boarding school. In the years that followed, it didn't feel the same. I was usually away at some program, my older brother enlisted in the Army, my younger sister and brother were born. When we did see the fireworks, it was at a distance or on television. The family was evolving and this new dynamic shifted our attention from reflecting to pondering possibilities. And it worked for a while, but that subtle feeling that I was the catalyst didn't diminish. It wasn't until my brother returned from his deployment to Afghanistan this summer that I really knew I wanted to sit on a park bench with my siblings, watch the sunset, and tell history without a phone or screen around.
Mom understood, as always, and agreed to take us to the waterfront. Like all good plans, mine didn't go as planned. The roads were blocked off so we couldn't go to the usual waterfront and had to settle for some park in midtown near the fireworks display. My two younger siblings refused to sit and listen to stories under a scorching sun while the other 20 kids were playing tag, and my older brother was more interested in connecting with his Facebook friends that he lost touch with in the months he was away. Sigh. Aside from Mom and two old ladies from Michigan who were visiting the The Big Apple for the first time, I sat in silence, watching the city and its inhabitants. And I finally got that group shot I wanted since my brother's return.
If I had to summarize my experience, I’d do it with F. Scott Fitzgerald’s line from The Great Gatsby: “I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.” Nothing was the same as I remembered. I wanted to give my younger siblings what I had as a child, but I couldn't. Nor will I ever be able to. I can teach them to not be rotten or dream big, but I won't be able to explain to them why it's useful to know how to use a card catalog to search for a book when it's a click away on a computer. They're in a new age and it's childish of me to compare it to my own. As the city rose, I falsely deluded myself into thinking it wouldn't shadow my home, my family. Chandler said it best when Marlowe sacrificed himself to save the old man from the big sleep. I can protect my family and my memories, but I can't change society. And so, as I saw hands clench phones to record each blast, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, experiencing the moment as was and embracing the joining of the past, present, and future on the day that granted us hope.
Happy Independence Day!
The tradition stopped when I started going to boarding school. In the years that followed, it didn't feel the same. I was usually away at some program, my older brother enlisted in the Army, my younger sister and brother were born. When we did see the fireworks, it was at a distance or on television. The family was evolving and this new dynamic shifted our attention from reflecting to pondering possibilities. And it worked for a while, but that subtle feeling that I was the catalyst didn't diminish. It wasn't until my brother returned from his deployment to Afghanistan this summer that I really knew I wanted to sit on a park bench with my siblings, watch the sunset, and tell history without a phone or screen around.
Mom understood, as always, and agreed to take us to the waterfront. Like all good plans, mine didn't go as planned. The roads were blocked off so we couldn't go to the usual waterfront and had to settle for some park in midtown near the fireworks display. My two younger siblings refused to sit and listen to stories under a scorching sun while the other 20 kids were playing tag, and my older brother was more interested in connecting with his Facebook friends that he lost touch with in the months he was away. Sigh. Aside from Mom and two old ladies from Michigan who were visiting the The Big Apple for the first time, I sat in silence, watching the city and its inhabitants. And I finally got that group shot I wanted since my brother's return.
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| At a new waterfront spot with my siblings and Mom on the 4th of July. The sun wasn't kind to us. |
If I had to summarize my experience, I’d do it with F. Scott Fitzgerald’s line from The Great Gatsby: “I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.” Nothing was the same as I remembered. I wanted to give my younger siblings what I had as a child, but I couldn't. Nor will I ever be able to. I can teach them to not be rotten or dream big, but I won't be able to explain to them why it's useful to know how to use a card catalog to search for a book when it's a click away on a computer. They're in a new age and it's childish of me to compare it to my own. As the city rose, I falsely deluded myself into thinking it wouldn't shadow my home, my family. Chandler said it best when Marlowe sacrificed himself to save the old man from the big sleep. I can protect my family and my memories, but I can't change society. And so, as I saw hands clench phones to record each blast, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, experiencing the moment as was and embracing the joining of the past, present, and future on the day that granted us hope.
Happy Independence Day!
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