What July Means To Me

Independence Day is what July means to me. Not because the 4th of July commemorates the Declaration of Independence which established the good ol’ U.S. of A., although that is significant and should be celebrated, but because of the numerous fond childhood memories I hold from scores of Independence Days gone by. Sometimes I can only recall a snippet here, or a snippet there, of a specific 4th of July I experienced as a child growing up in Iowa. However, there are also times when the memories of my youth seem so vivid. Like the memory I have of my Uncle Bill flying a kite.

In fact, it’s the only time I can recall my very manly uncle ever flying a kite. Our entire clan was gathered together on the lawn of Newton’s one and only high school, waiting for the city’s fireworks display to begin. With surrounding sparklers sizzling, and enthusiastic chatter abound, I remember my sole focus was on that kite. Even the patriotic music being transmitted by our local AM radio station, that could be heard humming through the numerous nearby transistor radios, could not distract me. I continued watching the diamond-shaped plastic bird on a string soar higher and higher in the dimly lit sky, until it was barely visible to the naked eye. It’s strange really, how seemingly insignificant snippets of early life can stand out when one becomes later in years.

Many Independence Days in corn country meant honoring my family’s traditional agenda, featuring the city’s parade at 9AM, a day’s long cookout, and fireworks at 9PM – give or take depending on the cooperation of the twilight’s last gleaming. Plenty of townsfolk would line the downtown streets of Newton every 4th of July to take in the modest parade. As a child, the patriotic event meant catching candy, tossed from the colorful floats, and hoping to catch a glimpse of some clowns’ wild antics. It also meant the ritual of receiving red, white and blue stickers and buttons from super friendly, well-dressed adults. As an adult, I realized most of the distributed sweet treats, and those red, white and blue campaign stickers and buttons, were the local politicians’ way of infiltrating the city’s registered voters’ households by using their children. Not cool.

Regardless of age, the mainstay of Newton’s 4th of July parades were and always will be the John Deere tractors. Different years and models – but tractor after tractor after tractor would sputter by in one tremendously long, single file line. And let me tell you, tractors don’t move all that fast. As a youngster, and even as an adult, it’s not difficult for one’s patience to wear thin during the John Deere portion of the parade. My gosh, you’d think the town’s entire population of 15,000 were all farmers!

My clan’s Independence Day cookouts were always about the food. Not necessarily about which dishes were offered, but the quantity of food garnered the most importance. Nobody would be hungry by day’s end – or the next day. In between bites, we found time to play intense games of croquet and yard jarts (not to be confused with today’s lame lawn darts). Back then, jarts had genuine metal points which could do some serious bodily harm if mishandled…and we liked it that way. Real points, for real men.

My family’s 4th of Julys in Newton always included us lighting some snakes and sparklers while awaiting the city’s fireworks display to begin. I was always a little more fascinated by the snakes than I was the sparklers. Sure, what young lad doesn’t enjoy holding a stick of fire in his hand? But there was just something so mesmerizing about watching a small black tablet mutate into an erratic slithering trail of thickened ash. Once, my uncle (yes, the one and the same, Uncle Bill) hosted an informal fireworks show in his backyard. Sure, my uncle broke the law by smuggling the forbidden product across state lines from Missouri (fireworks were illegal in Iowa at that time) but it was easy for him to do so with his extensive experience as a trucker.

My favorite 4th of Julys were the ones spent with family at Adventureland Park in Altoona, Iowa. My father would load up the Ford station wagon and then drive us over to my Aunt Marlena and – you guessed it – Uncle Bill’s house, so our families could caravan to the amusement park. The seemingly long journey, at least to us kids, in reality was only about a 25 minute jaunt. And we knew regardless of how long it was going to take us to get there that any day at Adventureland Park was going to be a fun-filled day. The proof is in the park’s decades’ long catchy jingle: “Come on over to Adventureland, you’re gonna have a fun-filled day.” See?!

Tradition dictated always boarding the miniature train, located immediately inside the park, for our first “thrilling ride” of the day. Each and every year, as the slow-moving locomotive chugged along throughout the park, I was always thinking to myself, “C’mon, move it! I’m here for the rollercoasters!” But some of my family could only handle so much, so for them it was just the train, the tea cups, the merry-go-round, and the Ferris wheel as their only rides for the entire day. At least those with sensitive stomachs also had Skee-Ball and Wac-A-Mole in the arcade area to keep them entertained. But we all did.

The funny thing is – the more I’ve aged, the less my tum-tum appreciates any ride that goes round and round – like the tea cups and the merry-go-round. However, I can still sleep at night and feel like a manly man because I still haven’t lost my affinity for extreme rollercoasters. And my stomach can still tolerate them, at least to the point of keeping my lunch down, as was confirmed just last month when my wife, and son and I revisited Adventureland Park some twenty-plus years later. (Shout out to the Monster and the Dragon Slayer.)

Speaking of lunch, tradition also dictated pressing the pause button on fun each year, for a late lunch back at the station wagon. The break from the excitement of the park was only acceptable to me because of the gobs of food and drink awaiting us in the parking lot. There was always fried chicken, an assortment of side dishes, and a variety of desserts. And every flavor of ice cold Hy-Vee pop (soda for those not familiar with the language of the Midwest). The liquid heaven was quite the treat since my family rarely consumed pop at home, and we certainly never had a choice of exotic flavors. Only cola.

Therefore, I made it my life’s mission to consume a can each of every good flavor, whenever we’d celebrate the 4th of July at Adventureland. Strawberry, black cherry, orange, grape, root beer, and cream soda were always targeted for my consumption before re-entering the park. Obviously, cola and any diet pop were exempt from my list. Whether celebrating Independence Day on the lawn of the high school, inside the gates of Adventureland Park, or in the now infamous Uncle Bill’s backyard, every 4th of July during my childhood always concluded with my family admiring the bombs bursting in air. So, this is what July means to me. What does July mean to you?