Celebrating the Fourth of July

is not optional, you know.

July 3, 1776 A future president

wrote to his wife, words we should consider again:

"Yesterday, the greatest

question was decided which ever was debated in America, and a greater

perhaps never was nor will be decided among men. A resolution was passed

without one dissenting colony, ... that these United Colonies are, and

of right ought to be, free and independent States."

Later in the day, aware that

he was attending the birth of a nation, John Adams wrote again:

"The second day of July,

1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am

apt to believe that this day will be celebrated by succeeding generations

as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the

day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought

to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns,

bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to

the other, from this time forward forevermore."

At the risk of serious braggadocio,

let me tell you how Peachtree City first realized John Adams' mandate.

Forgive me for beginning with

words Southerners hate, "Back where I come from..." but I don't

know how else to say it. Back where we came from in 1971 south Jersey

the Fourth was a Big Deal.

It began with a parade and

a decorated bike contest, and moved on to a flag ceremony at the cannon

in the park, complete with a speech by the mayor. There were events all

day races, contests, softball games and then everyone lugged charcoal

grills and lawn chairs to the ball fields on the east side of town where,

amid clouds of citronella and punk sticks, they picnicked and visited

until dark.

And dark was when it happened.

"Bonfires and illuminations" in the sky, booming and roaring

and lighting up the trees and sending delicious vibrations through our

chests and down the dark streets and into all the empty houses. The rockets'

red glare, the bombs bursting in air!

All of us, grown folks as well

as kids, walked home under street lights, exhilarated and exhausted, feeling

part of something as big as a whole country founded in freedom. And wasn't

this happening all over the U.S. of A.?

Apparently not. On July 4,

1972, we dressed in red, white or blue, as we had done back where we came

from, and went forth into the heat of our new Georgia abode to join in

the events of the day.

But there weren't any. Except

that the mail was not delivered, there was nothing to distinguish July

4 from Jan. 1 through July 3 and July 5 through Dec. 31.

I was crushed with disappointment,

especially for my children, who could no more imagine a year without a

Fourth of July than a year without Christmas. I vowed there would be a

Fourth of July in 1973, and thanks to a superb community effort, it happened.

The fire chief agreed to lead

a parade with fire trucks, and we blitzed the local papers with invitations

to a decorated bike and golf cart contest, a picnic at the park, and then,

oh boy! We'd get some real fireworks and set them off.

We raised the money, around

$300, door-to-door. The developer contributed generously.

The great day arrived and so

many people joined the parade, there were hardly any bystanders, but no

one cared we were birthing tradition, and we knew it.

It was so hot, we poured ice

water from drink coolers on two stalwarts riding bikes, dressed as clowns.

Sack races and egg tosses and games kept everyone busy through the afternoon,

and then we spread our suppers on the grass at Picnic Point.

There were probably only a

few hundred people the park easily contained the crowd but officials estimated

it was the largest gathering in Peachtree City's short history.

When the sky began to darken,

volunteers lit off the fireworks, and the crowd oohed and aahed its appreciation.

So far as anyone could say, this was the first public fireworks display

in Coweta, Fayette, and Spalding counties. I learned later that for some

adults in the crowd, these were the first fireworks they'd ever seen "live."

Year followed year. The parade

grew, especially in election years when it became a natural stumping ground.

The fire department added the water battle; firefighters from Atlanta

to Griffin came to compete. Each year, there were more pyrotechnics. I

remember my shock when the city fireworks budget topped $1,000.

When a firefighter got a concussion

from a rocket gone astray, we turned the launching over to professionals.

This year's price tag was $24,600.

And this year, the Fayette

Kiwanis Club is hosting a community picnic at their fairgrounds off Goza

Road from 1 to 7 p.m., thoughtfully skirting conflict with Peachtree City's

parade (9 a.m.) and fireworks (9:30 p.m.)

Do you think John Adams would

be pleased? I did until I read the next lines of his letter to Abigail:

"You will think me transported

with enthusiasm, but I am not," he wrote. "I am well aware of

the toil and blood and treasure that it will cost us to maintain this

Declaration, and support and defend these states."

Heed his words.