reposting this 4th of July blog I wrote last year.
The same memory comes to mind when I reflect on the 4th of July. Every year was the same scene. Me standing at the screen door looking out watching my brother and all the other children enthralled in all kinds of fireworks. I finally would get coaxed to come outside when my brother promised a ceasefire. I would scrounge up all my nerve to come outside just to hold a sparkler. I would try to act like I was having fun while writing my name in the air. Truthfully, I was terrified and couldn’t wait to get back inside the house.
My brother, Mark, lived in a world of superheroes. Normally that wouldn’t be that much danger (except to his social life), but on the fourth of July, when I was 6 and he was 8, it was a bad combination. Our mom was frugal and wise. She only…
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