Invasion
Thursday, July 16th, 2009I enjoy summers a great deal. All my childhood summers were spent at the Jersey shore. There’s a certain humidity, the ocean feel to the air, that isn’t found anywhere else. I knew it was summer when the fireflies would come out, and catching them was maybe my favorite pastime. Fireworks were up there, though, especially on the beach. We could set up towels and sit around and watch, and for a while the only important things were explosions in the sky.
I still like fireworks. I still go to see them every chance I can make the time. But I can’t view them in quite the same way anymore. I hear them go off when I’m not expecting them, and it sounds like what I imagine war zones might sound like, mortar fire off in the distance. I don’t know why the first thing my mind goes to is being invaded by the Soviets — could be all that Red Alert 2 I played as a kid.
If I were another superpower bent on invading the United States, I would do it on Independence Day. Partially because it’s supremely ironic, or that it would be some kind of dramatic literary device. But also there’s a shock appeal that, no, those explosions are not a part of the celebration. Not this year.
