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That was your 1st—that was my last—4th of July

William Freemire

That was your 1st—that was my last—4th of July

You were learning life on your own terms, but I guess you had to. You were only 5 months old. You learned what the 4th of July was and I witnessed your surprise and fear when the fireworks started their negotiation with the sky. BOOM, the conversation began and your face crumbled as the reverberations echoed in our chest cavities. The sky lit up with fireworks claiming their space. A whistle shrieks a warcry with an angry tail disappearing and silent, then KA-BOOM this arrangement being brokered in the heavens as you tried to discern this foreign language. Tears rolling down your cheeks and I felt helpless with nowhere to hide you from the deafening explosions. I held you tight. I was so mad I didn’t have fear protection for you. As this war of the 4th taking claim to the ethers, you deciphered the code in this lingo of compromise. You listened as the multiple whistles burst into rhythmic sparks entangled with the stars. It was a shriek met with the biggest smile and laugh. You stood proud but not as proud as I was witnessing you conquer that moment. You were so cute and it was the only and last moment we called ours.

Painting by Gwynne Duncan 

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