Independence Day

Grandma Eckman hated fireworks with a passion.  “What a waste of money and energy and time,” she said as often as she thought someone was listening, and even then, I think she said it sometimes as a spontaneous outburst that she couldn’t hold in.  She never explained why she felt that way, and I am not sure anyone ever asked her.

My father believed that the reason was connected to an experience she had a long time ago with a Chinese door-to-door salesman who she believed gypped her by selling her a set of fireworks that didn’t work at all. She had wanted to surprise her children during a time when they were struggling financially, splurged and then after their simple Independence Day meal, when the three of them were on the front porch at dusk, the sparklers that she had purchased failed to light. The entire neighborhood was witness to the failure, and according to Dad, Grandma Eckman fumed every time she saw fireworks after that.

Her embarrassment grew to dislike and distrust anything Chinese, including Chinese food, even chop suey, which both her daughter-my grandmother and my own mother made on occasion. Once when my mother, grandmother, siblings and I were shopping during the annual family vacation at a resort in central Michigan, Mom suggested that they serve it as one of our evening meals. Our grandmother stiffened immediately and firmly stated, “Not with Grandma Eckman with us.” We would have to have the dish some other time.

When Independence Day would come around, Grandma Eckman would become tense. For us, however, it was a great time. The local drive-in cinema presented a firework presentation on July 3 between the films of the double feature. It was our usual family celebration. We would arrive at the drive-in early enough to spend a little time at the playground on site, change from our clothes into our pajamas in the bathroom and then climb back into the car for the evening fun. Although there was concession food, it wasn’t very good, so Mom always made popcorn, brought cookies, candy and potato chips and a large thermos jug of Kool-Aid.

In our pajamas and sneakers (which we thought was a treat in and of itself), we would stand near the car and watch the display of exploding lights with great excitement. Meanwhile, Grandma Eckman would be at home with her shades drawn, playing her records as loudly as she dared to drown out the unwelcome sounds.

On Independence Day itself, our great-grandmother would join us for the mid-afternoon barbeque and mysteriously disappear when Dad retrieved the three or four boxes of sparklers when the sky began to turn dark. As a child, that’s all I remember—one minute she was with us, and the next she was gone. She didn’t drive, so someone must have taken her home.