In years past we have always watched the 4th of July fireworks from our very own front porch. And every year, just like this year, I raise the spectre of having our boys stay up way too late and watch the show. Occasionally, I even suggest that we stroller it down to Five Islands to get a better view. And every year, my darling husband says this is a Very Bad Idea.
Our nanny, who happens to be a British Supernanny, says she sides with him in this matter. Fortunately, cooler heads have prevailed and we are out in the rain (live blogging from the scene!) while we hear a few distant booms. The boys are safe in their beds. We are not actually sitting in the rain, for that would be foolish: We are on the porch. Ah, soon to be no longer our porch, and we'll miss it sorely! And this is a true thing.
According to a few soreheads who read the Loop, where our favorite Editrix has posted a fair number of my rantings and ravings, I am a racist, elitist, mannequin-mocker who also happens to hate women with breast cancer. See this link for the firestorm rivaling any Independence Day spectacle New Ro can put on! (Fire fed by myself and my husband, of course, as nasty naughties who call me bad names cannot escape unscathed and must be driven weeping into the ocean.) When I first read the post of the anonymous troll known as "Another Reader" (I suspect a woman's touch, but maybe that labels me as a "sexist," too!) I was in the park with my seven-week-old infant and older son and felt keenly wounded. Ouch. Was I to be run out of town on a rail, bullied back to the borough of Brooklyn for the crime of having a sense of humor? Gosh, peeps, I was just having a bit of fun and happened to have a camera in my beaten-up old-lady non-elitist purse.
Me, a racist? I remember most vividly our very first Fourth of July in this house, when we had three couples over for a barbeque. Two of the couples happened to be black. Our neighbors' four fat sisters, floating like offal in their above-ground pool, glared at us over the fence with pointed rancor. We later planted four fat trees in that spot.
Lest another reader tracks me down here and says the "Gee, I have black friends, too!" defense won't wash, I'll mention that one of my dear pals from New Rochelle (black) was the very one who suggested I stay the hell outta this neighborhood because the school system wasn't so good. Horrid elitist that she is! We didn't listen, because I tend to think standardized test scores are a crock, especially when the majority of the school population is ESL. And I do think the school is a very decent school, with very good people working there. I'm not a fan of the garbage in the playground, but hey, there's garbage in Turtle Park, too.
When I started this blog I think approximately three people read it. I like them and they like me, and what they thought wasn't going to stop my opinionated, snarky, and occasionally heartfelt and even sad musings. Nothing has changed. Long live the free journalistic spirit, and kick-ass free spirits like the Loop's Polly!
Where are my fireworks? What are my very, very low taxes paying for, anyway?
Wait. Oh yes, indeed. They have begun. And they are quite fine!