Barbara J. Hamby

Fourth of July

Almost every year around this time I remember the most emotional Fourth of July in my entire life. In 1989 I was recovering from colon cancer surgery and walking my legs off to get my health back. My mantra was, “I will survive.” Obviously, I did—for at least twenty years. These days sore feet keep me from doing much walking so I swim for my life.

I don’t remember if I got to see the Vancouver fireworks display on the Fourth that year, but I did see many of them during the twenty years I lived on that side of the river. I have mixed feelings this year realizing there was no show due to the economy. Part of me thinks it’s sad that a long-standing tradition has fallen on hard times. Part of me remembers the dangers and occasional injuries that resulted in spite of careful safety efforts.

These days I view fireworks on a television set where I can control the volume and pick and choose which program I prefer. Most of my life I had extra sensitive hearing; it seems to be diminishing now. I’m sure my parents didn’t know that when they took me to my first fireworks display. I’m told I bawled the whole time we were there—I don’t remember that. I do remember one time being allowed to sit on top of the car to get a better view of the fireworks. That must have been a later date.