My memories of Fourth of July begin on a blanket at Reseda Park desperately trying to stay awake long enough to see the fireworks. There was such anticipation that long summer day (what other holiday makes you wait until nighttime?!), that I could never take a nap despite knowing it might help me fight off the Sandman. And it was in Reseda Park, then the magic land of giant robots and duck ponds, that I fell in love with fireworks. Utterly captivated by the spectacle and splendor. I grew so attached to that ritual pilgrimage to the park that I vividly remember the first year I didn’t go. It was 1976 (the Bicentennial, for heaven’s sake) and my brother John and I had traveled to our Nana and Grandfeather’s ranch in Northern California for several weeks. With Independence Day right in the middle. Since our grandparents lived thirty miles from town (a generous label for 1970s Susanville), trips in were rare and well-planned. John and I spent most of the afternoon taking turns on the homemade swing hung between two giant trees feeling sorry for ourselves that it was such an important year and we were going to miss the festivities. But, to 
our surprise, Grandfeathers drove us all the way to town for a fireworks show I’ll never forget. In Sally Williams Chapin’s My Red, White, and Blue, the story of America’s flag is told without fireworks, but there is a little button that plays music. Happy Birthday, America!http://www.amazon.com/White-Blue-Musical-Board-Book/dp/1560213884
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1533558.Sally_Williams_Chapin
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