I've been asked to help with the English communications for my organization. There is a person who is in charge of this, but she can't be everywhere at once. She asked if I could share what Impacto Juvenil does through social media. I don't think I'll be tweeting. Maybe instagram. Mostly I'll be taking photos and writing for newsletters and Facebook.
I do have a degree in journalism, but these days I don't write much except this blog. I've been told the quality of my writing suffered greatly as my Spanish improved. Guess I'm not good at writing in one language while speaking another. That makes this new opportunity more intimidating. I hope my first assignments turn out well so I'll feel encouraged and more confident. Most of our sponsors are English speaking, so my writing could have a direct influence on the donations my organization receives.
Today I was thinking a lot about the 4th of July. Since I am not an exceptionally patriotic person, it seems odd that Independence Day is my favorite holiday. But as I talked to Fany this afternoon, I finally figured it out.
Fany showed me photos of Honduran people within the US wearing red, white and blue on Facebook. She said it seems like everyone really enjoys this holiday, but she wasn't sure why. So I dug a little deeper into my own thoughts on the 4th of July.
Some of my favorite memories are of Independence Day, from the time I was a tiny kid until last year.
When I was little my father was the ambulance chief. He was also my idol. I dressed like him in blue jeans and plaid shirts. I would do anything to spend time with my Dad. Today I realized that my father is the reason the 4th of July is my favorite holiday.
I understand that as a country we celebrate independence on this day. But what I always loved about the 4th of July was that it meant I got to spend 48 hours straight, minus a few hours of sleep, with my father.
As I observe US holidays from a more outside point of view lately, I think we have gotten confused. Our priorities are misdirected. Christmas has become stressful and rushed. Some people overspend. In general, it's about the gifts and a meal. There is not much time spent thinking about
what we are celebrating and
why, because we are too busy decorating the house and trying to find the perfect gift. We don't even get much quality time as a family because we're too busy or too exhausted.
What I love about Independence Day is the simplicity:
Hamburgers, hot dogs and steaks, potato salad, corn on the cobb - none of this stuff is time consuming.
Flags, red white and blue clothing, sunblock - there's nothing you need for this celebration that breaks the bank.
Fireworks, a day at the lake, a bonfire, maybe a weekend of camping - minimally stressful and you can adjust it to fit your schedule, budget and family dynamic.
Let's face it. The fourth of July is THE ideal holiday. But the story is more personal for me.
As I was growing up my Dad was elected Ambulance Chief. He was super proud to be the Ambulance Chief, I think. He liked titles. That specific title meant that he drove the ambulance in the front of the Lyons Falls parade for the fireman's field days. (A two day festival with rides and food to raise money for the fire department, all culminating in fireworks on the 4th of July.)
This was a big deal for a few reasons. First, Lyons Falls had one of the best field days around. People came from all over to see our fireworks and ride our rides. Secondly, having my father drive the ambulance meant that I got to throw candy out the window for all of the people along the parade route. And I could blow the siren when I passed my friends. Yup. It was pretty cool.
The parade ended at the village park, which was packed full of rides and games and everything a carnival has, including the "carnies", most of whom I knew by name. My Dad developed a friendship with the "carnies" and each year I was so excited when they pulled into town. The man who ran the ferris wheel was our favorite. I'm ashamed I can't remember his name anymore. Sometimes he would let me have free rides or when it came my turn to get off, he'd skip me and I'd stay on extra long. I always thought he left me swinging in that seat at the peak for longer than other people were allowed, although looking back, I'm sure he was just loading up the chair below. He may not have even realized I was up there.
The point is, I felt really special on the fourth of July.
I was still pretty young when Dad let me sell tickets for the rides. My Dad liked to push limits. I think he was proud that I could handle that task at such a young age. And I think he enjoyed seeing people who were surprised that a little girl was handling ticket sales. I loved making my Dad proud. I loved that he trusted me to handle the money. All of the approval a young girl seeks, I found in abundance for those two days.
My father also let me pick one friend to help me sell tickets. I remember kids who normally weren't as friendly would suddenly want to hang out with me. I enjoyed the short spurt of popularity. But even back then, I knew it was false. I always chose the same friend to accompany me. Lisa.
It was actually a brilliant way for my family to keep track of me. While the chaos of the festival surrounded me, Lisa and I were locked inside a tiny booth all day. Dad brought me food and I was happy as can be. Sometimes he'd give us a break. Lisa and I would go ride the rides, but mostly we were happy in the ticket booth. He was proud of our dedication.
I remember when I was old enough to have a crush, one of my first crushes was on the guy who ran the "Round Up". That was the scariest ride in the park. It was a round platform that spun so fast it pressed your body weight against the cage behind you. You could lift your feet off the ground and gravity held you up. I don't remember what my crush's name was. I just remember Lisa and I called him "What's Up". I think that's all he ever said to us. We sat in the ticket booth and giggled about him. That was our great excitement for the summer. We were heartbroken when the two days were over. He packed up his ride and left.
After dark the atmosphere at the field days changed significantly. Most of the kids went home. But I got to stay and sell tickets. That was how I saw my first drunk person. I also remember seeing a person I knew threaten to throw himself off the Lyons Falls Bridge while his daughter, who wasn't much older than me, begged her father not to jump. I was young, but I knew it was a sad, sad sight. I remember my Mom being really uncomfortable. She didn't say anything, but I knew she didn't want me to see those things.
My Dad and I would finish selling tickets, then count all of the money. It was never a rush, although it was way past my bedtime. Then he'd drive me home at 10 or 11 p.m., which was really late for the girl whose bedtime was 8 o'clock until I was 13 years old. That's only a slight exaggeration.
I'd sleep on the sofa on the front porch. Somehow, that felt closer to the action. I made sure the door was locked because I'd already learned that drunk people could be unpredictable. There were likely to be people passing by and I didn't want to miss a thing. In my little village, this was the most exciting event of the year. We felt famous for those two days.
My Dad would say goodnight and tuck me in on the third of July. A few hours later he'd wake me up to start day two. I remember realizing I was still tired. But nothing could keep me from going back to that park with my Dad.
I'm pretty sure this is not accurate, but in my mind the only time I saw my Mom was for the fireworks on the fourth of July. We'd head home before dark. If we were really little we went to sleep for a while. Mom woke us up in time to watch the fireworks show from our balcony. My brother and I sat in lawn chairs with sleeping bags if it was cold. We ate popcorn and watched each beautiful explosion until the year that the trees were too high and we couldn't see the fireworks any more.
By that time I was grown up. I didn't care so much about impressing my Dad. He didn't see much in me to be proud of. So we drifted apart. But for those years, when I was young, there was nothing like the love I felt from my Dad on the fourth of July.
