Pfunksfoolosophy

Since I come from New England and since I was a band fag, I have marched on the 4th of July in parades. It’s not that much fun. Typical of New England Summers, it’s hazy, hot and humid. Our band uniforms were blazers and chinos. Your underarms were never very happy. The fabric didn’t breathe. We played the theme from “Rocky” for a couple of miles. Then we would segue into ‘Brazzle Dazzle Day’ from “Pete’s Dragon”. We might pull out a snappy number called “Veracruz” but by then your feet and your underarms were cryin’ uncle. People waving mini flags, seated comfortably along the parade route, holding ice cold beverages made you just want to cry. You didn’t give a fiddler’s fart about the Founding Fathers and their triumph over tyranny. You wanted an ice cold glass of water and a seat.

Oh, I understand the importance of marking our country’s anniversary and the importance of patriotism especially now, but the selfish kid side of me just wants to sit in the sprinkler and catch fireflies. I don’t want that loud ka-BOOM of fireworks over the Hudson. I can’t get into the ‘ooooh and ahhhh’ of the fireworks crashing their colors across the sky.

You know why? We still have men and women who aren’t really going to get a time out to wonder at the simple beauty of fireflies east of the Mississippi, cicadas and crickets, the smell of dew on the grass as it burns off to midmorning…they’re in harm’s way.

Today, I’m going to take a minute or two to pray for them. To send my love out to them instead of opining about my days as band fag and how I marched in our country’s oldest July 4th parade and wanted to shoot my face off because it was so friggin’ hot.

Instead I’m really going to honor our patriots. I’m going to send my good thoughts to protect them this day and every day until they are home.

Happy Fourth, everyone!
Make it count!