July 4th, Week Ten in the Time of Transition

When I was a child our family would pack into our Ford station-wagon and head out to Pennypacker Park to watch the fireworks. We played in the playground or chased fireflies until the moment when it became dark. Then the night would light up and we cheered with delight as we gazed skyward. It felt magical to enjoy a hot night of colorful pyrotechnics. The crack, pop and whiz of the fireworks foretold if we’d be seeing a Roman Candle or a burst of high-definition pink chrysanthemum. My favorite was the waterfall, cascading sparkles in the sky.

Tonight I may skip the fireworks. Fortunate to live in New York City where the Macy’s fireworks grace the darkness over the East River, I am reticent to stand among so many on the East River Promenade to catch a glimpse of the larger displays. It is not only that we are making our way out of a pandemic, it’s more that I don’t like myself so much when I jockey to find the right spot and stake my claim. I become territorial and highly suspicious of my fellow humans. Some come with young children, and I turn into an angry older woman afraid that they will block my view by placing their toddler on their shoulders. Those moments as I wait do not showcase my best self. I am greedy about my space, selfishly competitive to those who only seek an evening of summer recreation.