The Grad School Diaries: Independence Day

In a very real sense, the phases of my life have been marked by the ignition of fireworks – or, at least, a few of the best ones have. As other diarists have noted, fireworks of all types (even the relatively harmless “Safe and Sane” types) are illegal in Los Angeles County, and I was always far too uncool (or law-abiding; depends on your point of view) to obtain them through black market channels. So the only time I ever saw or had any was during the few years when my cousin Bob and his best friend Ron came to see us on a regular basis…

Bob was my late mother’s second cousin, and for a while there when I was ten or so and he was twenty-five, he was easily one of the coolest people you’d ever want to meet. A brilliant scholar (good enough for the master’s programs in both biology and business at UCLA, although admittedly not at the same time), Bob was also a skydiver, mountaineer, master SCUBA diver, martial artist and handgunner. As far as I could tell at the time, he could eat anything, drink anything, date anything and do anything, and emerge unscathed. Even as a preteen, I thought that Bob was trying to pack as much living into every year – even every day – as if he believed that life is short, and he might not have long to enjoy it. It was many years later when I discovered that this was, in fact, exactly what he believed…

Ron was Bob’s roommate and companion in a great many adventures, notably including hiking, backpacking and mountaineering in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Together, they represented the last gasp of my parents’ collective youth. Weekend visits from Bob and Ron would mean elaborate meals barbequed in the back yard, Mom and Dad drinking rum drinks with the dashing young cousins (Ron was, by acclaim, an honorary cousin) and listening to the pop music of the time. It was one of the only times I ever truly remember my parents as relaxed and happy, without a care in the world…

Before the dark times came; before Mom got sick and nothing was ever quite right again…

But before the clouds arrived, I can still remember the six of us out in the back yard on July 4th, watching as the four adults too turns lighting off fireworks and laughing in delight at the clouds and plumes of glorious light…

It wasn’t until many years later, when I’d finally shaken the mud of high school off of my shoes, survived college, and settled back in LA that I found that same sense of family again. In the company of a small circle of oddballs and weirdoes every bit as strange as I am; the finest people in the world. My friends…

It took me a long time to understand that this wasn’t a return to the best days of my childhood, but rather a metamorphosis into a new life and a new place. When I saw myself reflected in the eyes of the children of our little circle, with myself in my dashing cousin’s role, and it became clear to me that I hadn’t found my way back to happier times, I had found OUR time. Our own days in the sun…

And none of those days were more glorious than Independence Day; the parties in southern Orange County, where fireworks are still legal, and the larger-than-life adventurer (and hero?) lighting them off was me. The child, grown to be the man, but still giving in to the wonder I have always felt at such times…

This year finds us far from home on Independence Day, with only each other to share the light and the glory, and stare off into the night and the future. Are there more days of glory out there, ahead? Will I really be blessed enough to take the love of my life and go to them? Will I be the child again, watching in wonder, or the Seeker, painting the sky? Is there a light beyond the darkness I must travel, and can I become more than I am, one more time?

It’s Independence Day 2009, and I still have more answers than questions…