Fireworks again tonight, same place. Curious. Only, this time I went outside and watched most of the show–after noticing the falcon behavior on the cam: both juveniles had already taken up their posts for the night, and it used to be, when they were new at this flying thing, that they roosted together on the louver. Of late, they haven’t always been there and when they’ve both been on the louver, they now stay at opposite ends of it.
They’re not ready to go totally off on their own quite yet. A little independence at a time.
But when those big Fourth of July booms started, Maya scuttled halfway down it towards the reassurance of her brother’s presence. After the booms stopped, she went back to standing sentry duty at the far end from him, facing him, watching over him as their mother had watched over her young by night.
Meantime. I knew my friend Marguerite’s mother grew up ethnic Chinese in Hawaii, and Marguerite’s father, whose family emigrated from China when he was two, taught their daughter that the only description that mattered was “American.”
Her mom got talking a little about that today.
She was a young woman coming out of church one day, wondering at what all that sound going on out there was about. So did everyone else. It became immediately obvious as they stepped out the church door: Pearl Harbor was under attack! They watched and cheered on the American side of the fight. Bearing witness. Remembering forever.
Today, as I listened and realized Hawaii hadn’t even been given statehood yet at that point, she bore fervent thanks for the privilege of being an American.
To which, with equally fervent thanks to my ancestors (here and here are two, others came later) who braved their trips across a different ocean, seeking freedom, I say, amen.