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"Pop must be rolling over in his grave." That was my first thought when I heard that Stamford's fireworks display was canceled for the first time in 50 years. My grandfather was a patriot in the purest sense of the word, from an era when men served god and their country and didn't question the validity of either. It's not that he or his peers were naive. They were born with a gift lost to generations since, including my own (the cynical "Generation X"). They were given permission to believe in something bigger, better than themselves.
Pop was in the Air Force during World War II; every one of his brothers, except for the very youngest, was a military man as well, either Army or Navy. Two of my great-uncles were recruited by the CIA after the war. My grandfather went home, married my grandmother, and followed another distinctly all-American career path: He went to work for the U.S. Postal Service.
I suspect that he hated his job there. As head of the claims department, it was the poor man's lot in life to listen to irate people scream about lost or damaged packages day in and day out. But I never heard him complain. He would come home from work, crack open a Bud, put a record on the turntable and teach me how to polka around the living room, my little girl feet on top of his own. Somehow he never lost his zest for life.
The Fourth of July brought out the spark in my Pop like nothing else. I still smile at the memory of his proud baritone belting out "The Star-Spangled Banner" on a sandy beach under a darkened sky, the air thick with the salt of Long Island Sound. My uncle Johnny had a house on Willowbrook Avenue, so my family usually set up camp for the fireworks display at a private beach at the end of my uncle's street.
Some years, though, one evening of Independence Day glitz just wasn't enough for Pop. I think I was about 4 years old on the night when the police interrupted my grandfather's backyard fireworks show (illegal in Connecticut back then). Because I was so young, I don't remember exactly what was said by Pop or the cops. But I do remember that the policemen ended up staying to watch the finale.
With the skies dark over Cummings Beach this year, I'm glad fireworks aren't illegal anymore. I'll be setting off a few in my backyard in honor of Pop.
If you want to head over, parking is free ... but bring your own Bud.
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