The Evolution of a Celebration: Or How I Learned to Love Hot Dogs and Fireworks

Growing up in Pasadena, CA, the Fourth of July meant one thing. Fireworks at the Rose Bowl. Now being a kid from, shall we say, lesser means, we couldn't quite afford the tickets to get in, so the Fourth of July meant climbing to mountain tops all around the edges of the Rose Bowl to get a birds-eye, and free, view of the amazing extravaganza.

As I got older, the Fourth was still about those fireworks. But now it was about whom was I seeing it with. Where was that boy I liked? Were we going to walk somewhere afterwards? Who was going to be there? Would I be a fifth wheel in some Fourth of July date already in progress? My teen years were more focused on friends and puppy love while my family took a backseat.

When I reached my 20s, the Fourth became about gatherings...okay, alcohol-fueled gatherings. My 20s mirrored my teens in more ways than I'm comfortable with. Friends and lovely crushes were far more important than what my dorky family was doing. I had to seek out a friend's BBQ, drink cold beer and act like it was fucking fantastic: my 20 in a nutshell.

Looking back, this blur of years is a primer on how not to live my life. I was so interested in not missing any happenings, I walked zombie-like through those times -- never feeling cool enough. Weirdly, the Fourth of July seemed to shine a light on these feelings more than any other holiday -- even New Year's Eve. Those seemingly casual BBQs (serving only the finest organic chicken, tofu dogs and plenty of other vegan options) in backyards across the Los Angeles basin, became fodder for many therapy sessions, I assure you. Flirty sundresses and...gulp...the threat of a pool party always made me vomit a little. The Fourth of July always seemed to scream Fun in the Sun, goddamnit.

As I eased into my 30s, a new and fascinating trend began happening in all of the holidays I celebrated. These holidays, once so defined by my own insecurities and traditions, had somehow been hijacked -- by a new generation of tiny people. Children. The children of my family and friends had marched in and made this whole holiday thing about them.

Halloween was now more about trick or treating than hook-ups fueled by costumes and masks. Birthdays were once again about sheet cake and balloons and less about the depressing specter of yet another year passing and the incumbent woes of inventorying what I had made of my life. Christmas was about the wonder of Santa and the magic of that time of year instead of last minute sales and Dust Bustering thousands of brown pine needles.

And the Fourth of July became about fireworks again. BBQs, hamburgers and hot dogs. Popsicles melting down tiny hands. Staying in the water as long as humanly possible -- until the pleadings of parents across the land finally brought the children inside, tucked into their beds -- exhausted with popsicle stained mouths, maybe a little sun burnt. And definitely with visions of fireworks dancing in their heads.

Yesterday I had lunch with my Mom, my sister and my youngest niece, Bonnie. Bonnie presented me a story that she had written about Christmas Eve at my apartment. We celebrate there every year. I never knew what she really thought about it -- my apartments tend to be on the small side, I serve weird organic food and my dog is...well, at best -- a tad anti-social. Bonnie's story outlined every thing - and it was all so lovingly revisited. From the weird organic food, to constantly tripping ov-er my bear of a dog. She even drew a picture of the event. It showed my entire family cramped into a tiny space -- a true depiction of Christmas Eve at my shoebox apartment.

As I meander through my 30s, I realize I seek, rather than reject, the old comforts of home and family. These insights will become the foundation from which a new family will bloom and find consolation. I may not know where exactly home is myself these days, but somehow I've become just that for this next generation.

This year, I will happily celebrate the Fourth of July with my family: watching fireworks, drinking fresh, squeezed lemonade out of Bell jars, and secure in the knowledge that my dog's valium cocktail will keep her pleasantly oblivious to the thunderous celebration just outside. In short, creating memories and finding comfort in what's important. If that knowledge comes with admitting that I'm an adult, well...that's the price of poker.

May you have a Happy Fourth with those who are important to you.