The Fourth of July always brings back some of my best childhood memories and favorite ones of my father.

Back home on Rhode Island fireworks are illegal. In the course of his job my father had to confiscate fireworks from people during the months leading up to Independence Day. Of course these explosives had to be destroyed somehow. Each year I became the most popular kid on my block.

As the families on my street gathered outside to watch the fireworks from Rocky Point amusement Park across the cove my father opened up the trunk of his car and pulled out three shopping bags full of bottle rockets, salutes and piles and piles of other various fireworks. Somewhere else in the city someone was cursing my father out for pissing on their holiday while my friends and I enjoyed as exciting a display as was being put on over the water.

Was OK with me!

I have a clear memory of my first illegal act; buying packages of salutes. There was the rush of adrenalin as I made the arrangements with another kid in Junior High School. The clandestine moment as we ducked out of a side door during the frenzied moments passing between classes to quickly exchange a few dollars for red paper wrapped oriental firecrackers. I don't think the pounding in my ears stopped until I got to where ever I sent to the off. I don't remember if I just set them off separately, in packages at a time rat-a-tat-tatting like a tommygun or aspyrotechnics tearing apart a plastic model kit. There was a wonderful exhilaration at having gotten away with defying my parents, school administration and the law in one fell swoop. I was such a rebel!

July Fourth also meant an Eaton Family cookout at my Aunt Loretta and Uncle Manny's. It was a chance to get together with parts of my father's family which I didn't get to see all that often. It was a lazy day of food and laughter. Because my grandfather had been married twice every Eaton family gathering brought out a different cousin which I has never before met. During the years I worked in radio, inevitably, I could only stop by for a short time before having to go work a few hours on the air. I would leave with promises that radios at the party would be turned to whatever station I was on so I could still be a part of the festivities. The tradition of the cookout dwindled after the death of my Uncle Jim. Just as things began getting better for me I had been planning on getting with my cousin Cindy to revitalize the tradition for our generation; then I moved to Florida. It is on my lottery wish list of things to do.

I only have one strong memory of a big fireworks display. It is so Norman Rockwell. It was a summer spent with my sister Joan in New Hampshire. With crystal clarity I can recall parking the car at a field and walking across the grass to find the perfect viewing spot. Rolling hills of green grass covered with families laid out on lawn chairs and blankets. I laid back on the grass and waited for the show with a distracting anticipation. The show seemed to go on forever. "Oohs" and "Ahhs" snapped through the air as fast as the fireworks themselves.

These days I always look forward to my latest and best tradition; my chapter's ID4 Cookout. Some of my friends have jobs which keep them away from weekend activities and make scheduling events everyone can attend difficult at times. However, everyone seems to make it to this party. While I sometimes bitch and moan about being in Florida, my friends take the edge off. I love being able to have as many together at one time as possible.

Here's to another great holiday!