I don't have any particular Fourth of July that stands out, either, but I have always loved it. Since I'm Southern, there was always the danger of a not-so-freakish thunderstorm at night in the middle of the summer where I grew up, so I do remember holding my proverbial breath if the clouds started gathering on the 4th. Sometimes it rained, sometimes it didn't. (Woe on the days it did. It was like Santa wasn't able to make it.)

But on the lucky 4ths with no storms, I'd go with Mom and Dad to the Thomasville High School football stadium for the fireworks. This was pretty much the only game in town, so everyone went. We'd have to park far away and it seemed like we walked forever to get to the stadium. How would we ever find our car again?

We'd find a spot on the grass or in the bleachers before the fireworks started. We'd get there early and so my impatient self would have to sit through country western band after country western band. We'd get hot dogs and sodas, so that helped. Sometimes I'd see little friends from school, who always seemed exotic and out of place, since I hadn't seen them for a month and we were both out of our natural habitats. But when would the sun ever set? When would it be dark enough for the fireworks?

And then they'd finally get started...and sometimes they were so loud I had to close my eyes, and they were spectacular. One time one of the little pieces of paper got caught by the wind and brushed the arm of my 4 years older, much wiser, next door neighbor, Ashley. It was hot, she said. How did she survive? The excitement of it all!

And then they'd end with the American flag, and play The Battle Hymn of the Republic or something, and everyone would get a little teary. And then we'd fight the battle back to the car. Where was the car? Did we really park that far away?

But find the car we did, and at some point during the traffic jam that was in between where we were and our house which was all of 2 miles away, I'd fall asleep. Another perfect Fourth of July.