As promised, though dreadfully late, here is the story of my favorite childhood Fourth of July. As a kid growing up in an Air Force family, few things were as important as family, country, freedom, respect, and independence. The Fourth of July was a huge celebration of all those ideals and qualities rolled into one, thus making it a natural favorite for everyone.

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The deafening roar of USAF Thunderbirds casting intricate jet trails across a cornflower sky, Lee Greenwood wearing his trademark Stars and Stripes jacket, belting out “God Bless the USA” to a crowd of hundreds, the scent of grilled hamburgers and hotdogs mixed with the pungent aroma of jet fuel and hot concrete, and me riding my dad’s uniformed shoulders while holding my mom’s hand, my beaming seven-year old face cracking at the red-white-and-blue painted corners – this was my most memorable Fourth of July.

Each year on Little Rock Air Force Base in Jacksonville, Arkansas, every man, woman and child grabbed their sunscreen, donned the then-fashionable fanny pack, and headed to the massively huge air field to enjoy the greatest of Air Force traditions: the air show. We knew what to expect. Parents would smile indulgently and chat with each other as the children sat in cockpits and explored, awe-struck, the cavernous interior of a C-130 aircraft, affectionately known as “Hercules planes.”

Patriotic entertainment was always provided, ranging from local talent to international personalities and you could not walk a step without having USA pennants, streamers, balloons, and toys pressed into your hands.

The best parts, however, remained the same each year: flight maneuvers and fireworks. The Navy-based Blue Angels were regular attendees of the LRAFB show, and their death-defying, pulse-accelerating exhibition of precision and flamboyancy never failed to stir intense excitement in even the most stoic of audience members.

The real stars of the day, though, were our own Thunderbirds. Planes with red-and-black pointed noses and wasp-like bodies, they appear too small to win a race against your grandfather’s Ford. Yet there they are, ripping sonic booms over your head as they create formation after formation in the sky, sending hearts leaping into throats as they zoom toward each other on a head-on collision course, then snapping a quarter-roll onto their sides and missing certain death by mere feet – these were our boys, our pride and joy. These were the grown-up toys that reminded us why our home was so important.

As a critical base of air mobility in the US Air Force, LRAFB was always inundated with troops, vehicles, and thousands of planes. It is the sole C-130 training base for the Department of Defense, and flight personnel from all branches of the US military as well as 28 allied nations arrive constantly to be trained by the best. Even as children, my friends and I all knew the importance of where we lived and revered the constant roar of aircraft overhead. Even in 1987, before the Gulf War, we knew that what our moms and dads did made a huge difference in the lives of everyone in the world. Our pride shone through our faces every time we respected a flag, and the Fourth of July air show teemed with the jubilance and fierce adulation of every single person on the air base.

Every year, our toast to the day would end with hour-long fireworks spectacular. Flaming rockets scorched the sky, dazzling flags waved next to the stars; pinwheels of light blinded our young eyes until all we could see were the remaining shapes in the smoke. Not quite visible, just memories in the night’s heavens. July 4, 1987, will forever stand in my mind as my most memorable, most excited, most cherished Independence Day, for its smoke memories still linger in my mind.

Originally posted here.

published @ Helium.com

Happy Fourth of July!!!!!!!!!!!!

As the daughter of a veteran, the Fourth is a pretty darn impressive day. When I have time later today, I’ll come back to post the story of my favorite childhood Fourth of July. The story involves jet engines, Lee Greenwood, and throngs of people. Sounds fun, no?

See? That’s a hook. heh

Growing up in a Southern family is pretty much a guarantee of growing up with odd sayings. Hailing from Alabama, as I do, doubles that guarantee and adds a side of grits. I’ve been a smart-aleck, sass-mouth and too big for my britches, more times than I can count, beginning from the time I was knee high to a fire ant. For you non-Southerners, that all translates to, “I had a smart mouth even as a small child.”

You have to admit, the Southern-style is much more entertaining.

My grandmother was a fount of quirky sayings (or “Mamaw-isms” as I call them), that she inherited from her parents. If a baby was crying in obvious teething agony, she would coo, “Just cuttin’ through like a hen grindin’ plates, aren’t they?” I eventually learned that this alluded to her childhood chore of tossing broken dishware to the chickens, who would use the shattered ceramic to sharpen their beaks.

In times of real anger, an offender would be threatened with having their own heads “shoved where the sun don’t shine,” or to be “knocked back to last Tuesday and smacked again on Wednesday.” Even now, I catch myself growling those gems when particularly frustrated with someone.

There is one tradition that typically abounds in all Southern families: gossip. We like to sit outside, preferably on the front porch, and chatter about the goings-on of family members, neighbors and various other people in our lives. Just as some people use the phrase “With all due respect,” as being a Get Out of Jail Free card if used before saying something scathing, my family has their own little catchphrase: “Now, I’d rather step on my own tongue than to say something bad about anyone, but…”

And it works. So long as you preface a snarky comment with a declaration that involves trotting over your own tongue, no one will consider anything you say the slightest bit awry. It’s great, you really should give it a try.

There are dozens of other -isms that have passed through my family and made it into our common vernacular. Some friends, though Southern themselves, have given me the funniest looks when I’ve declared myself to be feeling “plumb tuckered” at the end of a long day, or when I describe the weather as being “a little nippy.” There are others, however, that they have heard – and used – themselves. For example, a trashy woman typically looks as if “she’s been rode hard and put up wet,” while a tacky man is “one of those tires-on-the-front-yard kinda guys.”

So whether we’re on the front-porch swangin’ or iced-tea idlin’, my Southern family can entertain you without even trying. And you can bet your ever-lovin’ tushes on that.