Fourth

I know it's a little late, but I've been feeling patriotic. We had a lesson in Relief Society on our country, our origins, our constitution, our founding fathers and the honor and respect we should teach our children to have for these marvelous gifts we have been given. And I realized that there were some stories in our own family history that my children should know.

When I was in high school I went on a summer-long backpacking trip through Europe with some friends. It was an amazing adventure, but one memory has been sticking out to me in my mind lately. By chance, we happened to be in Normandy, France on the 50th anniversary of D-Day. I hate that I was too young at the time to recognize the significance of the day that we spent there, wandering through the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, wondering about the rusting and broken barges left just off the shore of the beach, and nodding to the hundreds of elderly Americans there (many of them in their old military uniforms from WWII) for the anniversary. I wish I had realized that this was an incredible opportunity. An opportunity to mine the minds of living history. An opportunity to speak with and listen to the men who came to those shores only to lose their youth to war.

I agonize over it more and more because my own grandfather was one of those youths. According to my grandmother, he shipped onto the western shore of Italy and fought his way up the European continent through France. Our family doesn't know much about what he went through . . . he never wanted to talk about it. All we really know is that my dad is in possession of an old box full of medals to remember his ordeal. My grandpa died when I was almost five. One of the things I am really looking forward to in the afterlife is getting to know him again.

I miss Boston this time of year. There is nothing quite like celebrating our country in the very seat of where we gained our independence. There is almost a reverence to the holiday in Boston, as though everyone around the city realizes that what happened on those streets and on the surrounding land was holy. I miss seeing the USS Constitution take off for it's annual sail around the harbor. I miss the incredible fireworks over the Charles river. I miss our annual summer walking tour of the Freedom Trail and the knowledge that seeing these things in person was a thousand times better than reading about them in a textbook.

You should go sometime, to Boston on the Fourth. You won't regret it.

If you have a story . . . Please share it in the comments. If it doesn't fit, write about it on your own blog and leave me a comment so I know where to find it!