I love the 4th of July. The festivities, fireworks, music, chips and dips. The chance to bust out my red, white and blue paper straws. I love the whole thing. Back home I’d count down the hours until The Boston Pops came on tv. It was one of my favorite shows of the year. There are no Boston Pops or parades in this land we lovingly (?) refer to as ”the butt sweat of America,” so we have to make other plans. The last few years have felt decidedly un-fourth of Julyish, but this year we turned it around.
Sunday night we went to a patriotic concert at church. During one song, they played a slideshow of family members who were in the military. Many were in the World Wars or Korea and let me tell you, it once again confirmed that I love a man in uniform no matter the decade. Had I been alive back then, I would have accepted a marriage proposal from just about any man who put on that cap with the little visor. I repeatedly poked AB and said, “He fought in one of the world wars and is related to someone in our church. Isn’t that so cool! Don’t you think he looks so handsome?” Every time she’d shrug and say, “I don’t know. I guess he looks fine.” As Lorelai says in Gilmore Girls, “You look like me yet my ways are lost on you.”
She perked up significantly the next day when we went to the festivities at the newly renamed Fort Benning. She was so young when Christopher got out of the Army that while she’s been told a lot, she doesn’t remember much of what he did or any of the Army activities I took her took wearing a themed smocked outfit and appropriately matching bow. This time she had 452 questions and observations.
We’re a proud 10th Mountain family so she instantly saw the patch on this guy and took a picture. 
I thought the whole thing was great. The more Pomp and Circumstance with a capital P and C the better. I didn’t bother asking AB if she thought anyone looked good in uniform because she doesn’t give the feedback I’m looking for. Christopher told her about the schools he attended and the countries he went to. I told her about the balls I attended and the many high-ups I met. Guess whose stories impressed her less. Hint: my stories. I did demonstrate for my family and the couple hundred people in the close vicinity what it sounds like when you walk into the back of a parked Black Hawk. I was responding to my friend’s text about makeup colors while walking and BAM. I went smack into the stabilizer. See Exhibit A for the exact details on the scene of the crime.
Exhibit A
When you live with the people I live with, if you accidentally call it a propeller instead of a stabilizer you will be corrected. If you’re Elizabeth and call it a plane instead of a helicopter, you will be corrected. The details are not important here. The fact is I walked into it, they must have heard the smack in Utah, I was mortified and now I have a sore lump on my forehead. I will be contacting the VA to request compensation for my injury. Instead of saying I was injured while doubling checking an eyeshadow name, I’m going to say I was injured while corresponding with a fellow American. Like I said, details are not important here.
