BONE WEARY PATRIOTISM

In Tooele, Utah, the coming of the 4th of July was always heralded by the high school marching band practicing on the streets of town early and often during the month of June. We always watched the parade with little surprise at what songs were going to be played as they marched down Main Street with the other entrants trooping along. Even though the parade went the length of town from the starting point at the park and then to the edge of town, in order to make it worthwhile to get out and watch the parade the entire parade would then turn around and make its way back down the street to the park. Since we lived near the edge of town the turnaround at our viewing spot followed quickly on the heels of the first review.
We only lived there a few years, but after the second year I pretty much had the sequence of the parade participants memorized. The police would come down the street first (that is a singular word), followed by the town fire truck (another singular). Next the mayor and his family would come in a classic car with other dignitaries who could fit in the car. Other persons of prominence followed in various makes of convertibles. There would be a few crepe paper decorated hay haulers loaded with the members and staff of whatever sponsor had paid for the colorful paper and the queen and her court. Everyone secretly prayed for a little rain so that they could see the floats drip all over themselves and briefly paint the street. The high school marching band would follow and then after some floats from the local church units the junior high band would come by. My personal favorite part of the parade was the children who dressed in a variety of patriotic costumes with bikes and wagons and each escorting one of their pets. I still maintain I saw a young boy leading a duck and another carrying a gold fish in a small bowl.
After the parade there was a pancake breakfast at the park followed by fun visiting the game booths and participating in the activities which required extra room. At the booths one could break balloons with darts, win a gold fish with a ping pong ball, dunk a prominent citizen in a pool, knock down bottles with a ball, toss a ring over a peg, and take a swing at junker car with a sledge hammer, along with many other intoxicating games, accumulating tickets which could be exchanged for food or prizes. In the field one could participate in such exhilarating events as the three legged race, egg tossing, balloon blowing up and breaking by sitting on them race, changing clothes race, pie eating contest, and every other type of race imaginable. Ribbons were given to those who finished 1st, 2nd, and third, but no tickets for prizes or food.
In the evening everyone gathered at the rodeo grounds to witness the locals break themselves up bull riding, bareback riding, calf roping, barrel racing and wagon racing followed by a spectacular fireworks display.
I remember hearing and expressing that the activities of the day had left us all ‘bone weary’ and looking forward to settling into bed with a heart filled with gratefulness for all I had and did enjoy.
As I look back on the 4th of July celebrations we enjoyed in Tooele, Utah, from a perspective of an additional 40 years of trying to pay tribute to those who paid varying prices to bring about the freedom and privileges we continue to enjoy, I can easily say that there have been few celebrations which stirred the emotions of patriotism in my bosom like those days of simple and humble celebration with friends and neighbors in that small community just south of the Great Salt Lake.
It would be an easy transition to blame the big city clamor in which I found myself encapsulated during those subsequent 40 years for the loss of stimulation in my heart on this day we celebrate the founding of our nation, but the reality is that I fear I have allowed my heart to be hardened to the point where it is difficult for fireworks and music to palpitate that organ as they once did. I fear that years of partisan political bickering have made the patriotic strains sound out of harmony. I fear that the gulf between our love of freedom and the wanton disregard we display for the rights of others seems to daily expand to where it is becoming impossible to span. I fear that the professed patriotism of the populous is somehow overshadowing and confusing the need to find a means of demonstrating compassion in the universal brotherhood of mankind. Lest I allow melancholy to overcome me and I sink deeper into becoming a cantankerous old salt, I want to exclaim my resolve for this year’s 4th of July.
This year:
I am going to do all I can to return to the feelings of those celebratory days in Tooele, Utah.
I am going to listen to the music with the same sensitivity which once caused my eyes to pool as I stood at attention outside of a barrack at Fort Ord, California.
With every bursting blaze in the evening sky I am going to remember all who have given so much that I might enjoy the wonderful and spoiled life I have.
I am going to remember that I have never gone to bed hungry nor slept cold and that all my needs have been satisfied.
I have a suspicion that if I put away the thoughts which have caused my celebrations to become caustic and fill my mind with all the fruits of freedom which have flowered my paths, I will again be able to end the 4th of July ‘bone weary’ and settle into my bed with a heart filled with gratefulness for all that I have and do enjoy because I live in a land where we continue to struggle to remain free.