July 4

Last July 4, I celebrated independence in a whole new way. I dropped by Dad off at Portland airport for his flight home and sobbed as I drove back to the hotel where I was staying. That was the start of my four month exile in Oregon. It was the first time I moved to a whole new place without any sort of a stable context. No family. No school. I was sort of propelled into a new world with only my God and my Acura. I learned so much, I lost so much and gained so much. I’m so glad I took that risk, I needed to break away for that time. I had to leave if I was to ever come back, and the task is now complete.

The year before that, part of my Independence Day celebration was going to Antietam with Christy. Her last name was Ross back then, and we had a very fun (but overwhelmingly HOT) day overlooking the battlefield, listening to a marvelous concert and seeing wonderful fireworks. That seems like forever ago. Both Christy and I bought awesome hats; she got a floppy hat and I got a straw hat. We took some very blackmail-caliber pictures. And Christy had this cool little hand-held battery-powered fan, like the ones we used to use in elementary school in San Diego when we didn’t have air conditioning in the summer. It was a very happy day, a sweet memory, particularly special because Tee’s now two thousand miles away.

That was also the year I first saw the fireworks in Washington. I was living at the apartments next to Heritage, and we got to watch the festivities from the newly refurbished Heritage roof. That was incredibly fun. And I surprised all my intern friends because they’d been under the impression that I was this withdrawn conservative person that never did anything fun. That night, I showed them I could dance. That was cool.

The year before that was the first year I went to Antietam. It was the summer I worked camps at school, serving with Faith and Cami in the kitchen. We had the week of the 4^th off, which was a welcome respite in the middle of eight weeks of screaming teenage homeschoolers. Which is downright terrifying, for the record. So a group trekked to Antietam. We also went up to the Wolshlegel’s to swim, look at Pennsylvania cornfields, and see some fireworks in College Park. The only thing we brought to eat was hot dogs. And I cannot stand hot dogs. Never have, and never will. I only had one bite and couldn’t eat anything else and subsequently starved. So that was memorable too, along with shucking corn. Lots and lots of corn. That was The Summer, and will always be capitalized as such to denote its importance. It was a transformation, one of many.

The year before that… wow… was the summer I graduated high school. I’m fairly certain I spent that July 4 with my parents at the Del Mar Fair. Well, now it’s the San Diego County Fair – so politically correct and boring if you ask me. Then again, it’s still Jack Murphy Stadium and the Padres just went to the World Series. I’m out of the San Diego loop and have been for some time.

It’s amazing to think what can happen in a year. In 2004, I didn’t know exactly what to expect of this 4^th of July. This year, I know not to expect anything of next year. There’s a joy in learning to expect the unexpected, a release and resolve to it. And I am glad.