Fourth of July in America

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Growing up, the Fourth of July was always one of my favorite holidays. There were hamburgers, hot dogs, cupcakes, cookies, family and friends, long beach days that would end with barbecues and fireworks.

I can remember going to the Fort Hamiliton Army Base in my neighborhood of Bay Ridge when I was younger to watching the fireworks break through the atmosphere high above our heads. We would secure a spot early enough, somewhere on a rolling green hill amid other families and kids running around with sparklers, and we would spread out a blanket and wait for the sky to explode.

As I got older, Fourth of July meant copious amounts of alcohol and ridiculous parties at Ariel’s house, which is where my day will bring me today.

I have not celebrated a Fourth of July home in New York with my family and friends since 2007. What have I been doing?

2008 – I watched the fireworks from the copy desk at my office in New Bedford, Massachusetts, where I was a summer intern at newspaper there and had ZERO friends.

2009 – My friend Katelyn and I celebrated a little bit too hard on the streets of Beijing, going to some bar in an ex-pat area and barely made it home alive. It was our first time celebrating such a patriotic holiday away from home, and I woke up with the next day with no cell phone to be found.

2010 – I was living on the Cape as a multimedia journalist and covering a was covering a story on two couchsurfers – one from Australia and one from Ireland. I traveled with them to Provincetown on Cape Cod and was a part of one of the funnest (and most famous) parades I have seen anywhere in the world. We ended the night watching one the most magical sunsets over the ocean while barbecuing with a family we had never met before who invited us back to their house to celebrate.

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2011 – I lived in South Korea at the time, and we had no access to a barbecue, so my friends and I turned our attention to our favorite ex-pat restaurant. We had work earlier that day and celebrated with a dinner that brought us as close to home as we could get.

2012 – I swapped nationalities for my Fourth in 2012. Instead of celebrating my American pride, I watched a very Australian rugby game: Game 2 for the State of Origin in a pub in a small town in Queensland and made friends with a heavily intoxicated (but really friendly) woman who shared a little too much information about herself.

2013 – It was literally so uneventful that I can not even remember where I was or what I did, which probably means I did nothing and went no where.

And though Hurricane Arthur might be threatening the day this year, and though the weather outside might feel like that of a terrible autumn day, I am really very happy to finally be home with the people who love me and care about me the most.

Happy 4th of July, everyone!

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