Ahh, the 4th of July Parade

I take the kids every year. Hot. sweaty. Till the studly firemen come by and hose us down.

Explaining to my kids who the Veterans of Foreign Wars are brought a tear to my eye. Both my grandfathers were veterans, and both have passed away. But old men, standing proud in old uniforms, a living legacy of a bygone era, make me proud.

The single car bearing a survivor of Pearl Harbor made me choke up.

I go to the parade every year to teach my children, show them some of the people who spend their lives defending this day and everything it means.

I had some complaints about the parade, but now, sitting here, they don't mean much. The Sparkettes, wilted and tired, twirled to the end. The Boy Scouts, feet dragging, held the colors high and steady. The Marines never missed a step, The Mayor never stopped waving, so who am I to complain, I who just stood on the corner. I know I will be back next year, clapping for the men and women in uniform, cheering for the firemen, and always thankful we have this day to celebrate.