When I was a boy, the Fourth of July always was a special day for me — possibly because my mother, a WWII war bride from the U.K., had chosen to be an American citizen, or maybe because I always had been fascinated by Revolutionary War history.
Or, perhaps, it was because I had my very own Fourth of July parade.
I'm not sure what prompted me to start an Independence Day parade, but it probably was because Atlanta's Channel 2 televised an annual parade.
The folks on Hope Avenue in Athens, where we lived, always commented in bemused wonder that it was the sons of the street’s British-born resident who organized the Fourth of July parade. But, to me, it made perfect sense: We weren’t just marking the anniversary of America’s independence, we were celebrating our heritage and the fact that our nation was founded by a bunch of British expatriates (like my mom).
Anyway, a few days before the holiday, my brother Jonathan and I would start cajoling neighborhood kids into participating. The parade varied from year to year, but there were two musts: One was me and two other kids re-creating the famous painting of a Revolutionary War trio consisting of a drummer, fife player and flag bearer. My mother liked to recount how, when my dad was taking down the attic fan and a piece of wood clobbered Mom in the forehead, I informed her that the old sheet she had me grab out of the linen closet to stanch the bleeding would make the perfect authentic head bandage for me in the next Fourth of July parade. And, so, it did, for several years in fact.
The other standard part of our parade was a Miss Liberty “float” consisting of whatever young girl we could talk into putting on a crown, holding a torch (made from a cardboard paper towel tube and construction paper) and riding in a little red wagon pulled by one of the “volunteers.”
One year, I got my friend Farris, who didn’t even live in our neighborhood, to participate, and his little sister Madeline was Miss Liberty (complete with fairy princess gown). Farris’ dad, a University of Georgia professor, walked backward in front of the parade, shooting 8 mm movie footage.
After our parade, Dad would grill hamburgers and hot dogs, and Mom would make her potato salad, which wasn’t heavily seasoned like some — just potato, hard-boiled egg, mayo, salt and pepper, though she dressed it up with crunchy chunks of raw carrot “for color.” It was great when served warm.
Through the years, the Fourth remained a family favorite among holidays, perhaps because we all loved hamburgers, hot dogs, barbecue (which became our chosen menu topper as we got older) and … fireworks! Every Fourth of July evening, we’d sit out on the golf course where my father played, to watch the fireworks extravaganza, and then sit in the car to watch the city’s fireworks show at a nearby park.
We continued that tradition even after my wife Leslie and I had two kids of our own: The Fourth meant barbecue in Athens with Grandma and Papa, and then fireworks. Some years, we'd go to a pre-fireworks buffet at their country club, but most years, my dad would pick up some barbecue in the surrounding small towns — Zeb's in Danielsville, Hot Thomas in Watkinsville or Fresh Air in Bogart. My daughter Olivia remembers her grandmother always using a picnic-themed tablecloth decorated with hot dogs and ketchup bottles.
For several years, Leslie, the kids and I also would participate in a lunchtime celebration in our Decatur area neighborhood. The folks on Faraday Place had been holding it since 1962, and the fare usually was hot dogs, chips, cookies, frozen pops, ice cream sandwiches and maybe a flag cake. There also were pre-meal games for the kids, including the egg relay, water balloons, etc. A couple of years, there was music by a band featuring somebody’s grown daughter.
And, harking back to my childhood, there always was a parade, featuring kids on bikes and scooters, as well as in strollers. Olivia participated a couple of times, with her scooter beribboned in the national colors. Unfortunately, the celebration ended in 2014 after 52 years — too many of the organizers had moved away.
At home, Leslie sometimes would make a cake decorated with white icing, peppermint sticks and cherries to look like a military drum, and, some years, we wound up watching fireworks in downtown Decatur.
As the kids got older, Olivia running the Peachtree Road Race became part of our Fourth routine. And, in 2012, when he was working in Washington, our son Bill got to attend the White House celebration, complete with a Brad Paisley concert.
We’ve even celebrated the Fourth while visiting abroad, with my British cousin Lizzy and her family showing they were good losers by feting our national holiday in 2014 with hamburgers and a red, white and blue sign made by her daughter.
In recent years, the Fourth has meant my brother Tim joining us for takeout from Decatur's Community Q, including pulled pork, ribs, Brunswick stew, and traditional sides, including black-eyed peas with rosemary and bacon, and an order of their deservedly famous mac and cheese.
And, yes, there are still fireworks, once the sun has gone down, set off down the street by an Indian family … which somehow seems extremely fitting to me, the son of an immigrant!
Bill King is a retired writer-editor for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He can be reached at junkyardblawg@gmail.com.
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