Devonne Brown

I’m still not used to the Fourth of July without the indignity of the sumptuous feasts my mother concocted on her birthday. They had everything but bursting fireworks against the black sky. They weren’t necessary for her celebrations. Everyone was too tired for them by dark anyway. The family would have had to replenish its energy before the night fell. 

Mom’s energy was ferocious, but even she called it quits after the kitchen was cleaned after one of her birthday extravaganzas. 

She had three attending siblings with families, and we had a pool, a big porch, and a grill. We were privileged enough to host massive parties on the Fourth of July, and we did. The women kept the coffee pot full, and sat round the dining room table gossiping and smoking. The men were on the porch smoking, drinking coffee, and jockeying the grill. The women had already prepared the crockpots, salads, and drinks. The kids were all in the pool, screaming, chasing, and saving each other when necessary. 

I was a floater. I’d go from pool to gossip, and back to pool again, never quite sure where I wanted to fit in. I was usually the designated lifeguard, until I got bored then I smoked cigarettes and drank coffee with the women, hiding it from Dad. 

Sometimes I’d go outside on the porch where the beer cooler was and sneak a beer with the men. No one mentioned the beer. It just wasn’t done. Dad always looked the other way when I had one in front of me. I sat by the alcoholic and blamed it on him, I’d sneak a hit from his cigarette too. What Dad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me, 

I do miss those days.