At age seven,

my time had finally come. The years of waiting and anticipating were over.

The day of passage from just being a little brother to well, someone important

- was now at hand. My Dad had chosen me to pick out the Fourth of July

Watermelon.

I knew just

were to go to find the biggest and best melon the only place in Atlanta

to go was the Atlanta Farmers' Market. After church on Sundays, Dad always

picked the garden. What he had extra he would trade at the Farmers' Market

for what he couldn't grow. Watermelon he couldn't grow. After the noon

meal one Sunday, we all piled into the green, wood-paneled station wagon

and headed to the market.

My years of

waiting had not gone in vain; I had taken notes. You see, there is indeed

an art to picking the correct melon.

First, you

must know which melon to pick. I knew that there were two kinds of watermelons:

long two-toned striped ones and dark-green, heavy, round ones with ruby-red

centers. Two-toned melons were always red on the inside, but very hard

to cut correctly.

If you cut

them crossways, you would end up with a circle for a slice and have to

use a plate. I didn't like using a plate. Cut them lengthways and the

slice you got was too long and you had to share. I didn't like sharing.

No. The only melon for me on this Fourth of July would be a dark-green,

heavy, round one with a ruby-red center.

At the Farmers'

Market, Dad traded squash, okra, and cucumbers. He then turned and said,

"This year we're gonna have family over, so pick out two good ones,

Rick." I walked past the stacks of long two-toned striped ones and

searched through the pile of dark-green, heavy, round ones until I found

the perfect melons. They were the right size bigger than a pumpkin. They

were the right weight - I couldn't pick them up. The only thing left to

do was the thump test.

Last year Twin

Brother Mark picked out the melon, thumping it using his forefinger and

thumb. When thumped, a ripe melon will sound a deep reverberation throughout.

Kinda like the sound you'll get when thumping your tummy after eating

too much Thanksgiving dinner.

Twin Brother

Mark picked out a dark-green, heavy, round melon but made a horrible mistake.

The mistake was so bad that it ruined the holiday for us kids a mistake

that no one knew had been made until Dad cut into the melon at lunch time

on the Fourth of July. Unknowingly, Twin Brother Mark picked a new breed

of melon - a SEEDLESS.

The small thin

seeds from the seedless could not be spit. That was the first and only

time we didn't have a seed-spitting contest on the Fourth of July. After

the thump test, I asked the attendant if the melons had good spitting

seeds. She looked at me with a smile and said, "Sure do. You can

spit those seeds twenty feet." And with that wonderful news, I rolled

the melons to Dad, and he loaded them into the green, wood-paneled station

wagon and we headed home.

Dad placed

the melons in the refrigerator for three days. At lunch time on July 4th,

he carried them to the picnic table and cut them. Each slice of watermelon

was ruby-red and full of juice. Big Brother James, Older Brother Richard,

Twin Brother Mark and I grabbed our slices, kitchen knife, and salt shaker

and sat on the cross tie wall in the backyard.

The only way

to eat watermelon is to use a kitchen knife to pick out the seeds, salt

it, slice it, stab it, and then eat it. And if the sticky sweet juice

isn't running down the front of your neck, y'ain't doing it right. This

is how we got into trouble eating watermelon and spitting seeds.

Every year

we had a seed spitting contest, and every year Older Brother Richard won.

His record of 18 feet still stands today. When The Sister came over and

sat down, Big Brother James invented a new contest: how many seeds can

you land in The Sister's long, curly red hair without her noticing? I

still hold that record at 10. When Dad found out, he sent me down to the

swamp to pick out a switch.

This Fourth

of July, we'll have the whole family over once again for the holiday.

Three days prior, I'll take The Boy to the Atlanta Farmers' Market and

trade some upside down tomatoes for one dark-green, heavy, round watermelon

with a ruby-red center. Twin Brother Mark thinks this is the year he'll

break Older Brother Richard's record of spitting a seed 18 feet. I think

this is the year I'll break my record of landing 10 seeds in The Sister's

hair without her noticing. Glad we no longer live near a swamp!

Happy Fourth.

[Rick Ryckeley

is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services.

He can be reached at [email protected].]