Celebrating the Fourth
Howdy y’all. As you know we recently celebrated the Fourth of July — even though, as an American in the current political climate, I am not feeling very celebratory. Every day, it seems, I learn of a new attack on our way of life.
If you are not a straight, white, Christian dude, you should be worried.
If you are one of the people who has decided that you are not even gonna vote in the next election because you don’t like either of the candidates, try to remember that you are not just voting for a person, you are voting for their administration.
Not voting is like giving a vote to the other side. If you don’t vote, you are hurting your own community. I beg you all to please help us: Put your feelings and judgements aside and do what needs to be done to help protect our freedoms, before more of them are taken away.
Sorry to get so soapbox preachy, but this is important. I am talking to you young and frustrated folks. It can and will get worse if we all do not do what needs to be done.
Okay, let me get off my soapbox.
Speaking of the Fourth, I remember when I was a kid, we would go to the Cotton Bowl in Fair Park and watch the fireworks show. I have this clear memory of sitting in the stadium seats with a big cup of Dr Pepper and a tub of popcorn. It was so exciting.
We didn’t do a lot of outings with the family, but we had a pretty big group of aunts, uncles and cousins. The fireworks started, and they were so freaking loud — cool as fuck but loud. A bunch of young kids and babies started crying and freaking out. I was freaked out by their freaking out.
There was no wind at all that night, and it was just as hot and humid as sweaty balls in a pair of wool underwear. Just this side of miserable.
Then ash and firework debris started to rain down on us — black snow and what felt like sand coming down and getting in our eyes and mouths. My fucking drink didn’t have a lid on it, so it and my popcorn were ruined.
It grossed me out so bad.
I got yelled at a few times for complaining and asking if we could hurry up and go home. Well, I didn’t exactly get yelled at, but you know that glare your mom would give you that felt like a punch? I got that a lot that evening. I was hot, dirty, thirsty, annoyed and maybe 10 years old, so you know I was in a mood. Then to top it off, my asshole cousin, Eddie Paul, kept pinching and punching me the whole, long-ass ride home.
I hated almost everything about that Independence Day. I probably just needed a Snickers.
One of my favorite July 4ths was when I was maybe 13 or 14, and we went to my Aunt Zina’s house in Waxahachie. They bought a bunch of fireworks, and she let us shoot them off in their back yard. We would use one of those incense sticks to light them. Zina and my mom would both be freaking out if we didn’t get away from the lit fireworks fast enough. It was a success since none of us lost any “fangers!”
We ran around with sparklers and not a care in the world, which is surprising since the center metal rod glowed with white hot fire. We lit those weird little black pill looking things that expanded and grew to look like poop as it burned. I loved the colored smoke bombs and their gross and probably toxic smell.
The smells! The smell of fireworks is so nostalgic for me.
In my 20s and 30s, I’m pretty sure I worked on most of the Fourth of July nights. I don’t remember seeing a firework show or shooting off fireworks until maybe eight years ago. On the third of July, Midlothian does a firework show a few blocks from our house. This year we got a pizza and sat in the back of my truck and watched them. It would have been romantic if it wasn’t for all of the freakin’ families trying to bogart the good spots in the field near where they shot off the fireworks — buncha cock-blockers.
One of those years, we went to our friend’s lake house with a big group of homos. Between my husband and our friend Marc, they had close to $2,000 worth of fireworks. They bought every big-ass firework they could find. When I asked why they spent so much money on all those fireworks, they said it was because they were adults and they could.
I laid in that back yard by the lake with a bunch of drunk gays and watched as they took turns shooting off some of the coolest fireworks ever.
It literally went on for hours, but it was quite the show.
For the past five years, we have held a big Fourth of July/end of Pride pool party — lots of food and laughter. We always rent one of those inflatable water slides. The biggest one they make, which is 28 feet tall, fits perfectly in our back yard.
The guys that deliver it always say something like, “I bet the kids are gonna love this.” I am quick to tell them, “Ain’t no kids gonna be here.
Fuck them kids. Why should they have all tha fun? This is for a bunch of grown-ass men.” Their response is usually a curt nod, and a “Well okay then.”
Trust me, you have not laughed until you see a bunch a gay dudes and off-duty drag queens screaming as they plummet into a little pool of water and get slammed full force into an inflatable wall. The climb up is a workout, but it is so worth it. They didn’t have them when I was a kid, so I feel I am making up for lost time. It may sound corny, but we literally laughed until our faces hurt.
I love my friends, and it makes me so happy to see them act like kids.
The only issue with the water slide is that Ruby, my 145-pound tortoise, fucking hates it. She will bash into it, try to climb under it, and the second it deflates, she shits on it. She is the devil.
I love our Fourth of July/end of Pride parties. My husband works hard to make our backyard look beautiful, so it is nice to be able to show it off. I am so proud of him and his abilities to make stuff, build just about anything and beautify our home. Those parties make me very happy.
I hope you all enjoy the rest of your summer. Remember to VOTE, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova