July 4

I am not sure how old children have to be before they can begin to grasp some of the more abstract meanings of holidays. When July 4th began with a particularly intense bout of sibling rivalry, I calmly stated, "Hey! It's the Fourth of July! It's a peaceful holiday, not a fighting holiday."

Not true, my friend reminded me when I told her about it at the July 4 parade. The Fourth of July would not exist without rebellion and fighting. So I should have told the kids it was about independence. But to them, it has a deeper meaning. One that rings in their souls, one that brings forth more powerful emotion then any idea of freedom and independence and love of country. To them it means one thing - CANDY. Free candy being thrown in the streets. All-you-can-eat candy tossed by clowns and dairy princesses and firemen. Candy. All you need is a fighting spirit - you must beat all the other children to get it - and a little courage - tire wheels and the rhythmic feet of marching bands might sometimes get in your way. But what good is something if it isn't worth fighting for, worth dying for?

I stand to the back of the crowd murmuring silent and not-so silent prayers that they remember the cardinal rule - STAY BEHIND THE WHITE LINE.

"Stay behind the white line!" I shout at the slightest tremor from their bodies that indicates they are considering risking the giant John Deere tire to get a Tootsie Roll before it is squashed.

"Get out there! Get in front of those big kids and get that candy!" Steve coaches, forever the competitor, a trait now mirrored to perfection in his son.

"They will be run over," I tell him.

"No, they are fine," he answers, a proud gleam in his eye as Alex throws his small body in front of the posse of eight-year-old boys who have monopolized the candy gathering. Cate, for her part, stands waiting, making a small, pathetic attempt to snag candy, never getting a piece for herself. But her patriotic pigtails work their magic. A kind man to her left catches a piece of two with each parade toss and hands it her way. Her brother, too, takes an occasional break from his candy-induced madness to hand her a token peppermint or lollipop.

The candy catching starts out slowly. A year has gone by since these skills of bravery and swiftness were called upon. Gradually, they gain confidence, and just when all out candy fervor is about to take over, just when the skills are honed, the horses appear. Any seasoned parade watcher (or marcher) knows the appearance of the horses signal the end of the parade. What the horses leave behind is not something to die for and the adults watched with humor as the crazed-candy joy written on the face of every child, turns to revolt as steaming piles of manure fill the streets, just inches from their noses.

Horses, of course, played a much more prominent role in our quest for independence. But that is a lesson I will save for next year.