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
