For the past several years I’ve been spending my Independence Day with my mom’s family. They — the rest of the family — have been doing this for longer, but I didn’t participate. For many years, I spent very little time with my family. I could blame my ex for that but I think that I just didn’t argue hard enough that I wanted to.
Anyhow, for the past several years we’ve been meeting at my Aunt Goldie and Uncle Pete’s house. Of course, that just happens to be the home where my mom and her siblings grew up. We ate an immense amount of food and sat around talking and catching up. It’s not the same as when I was growing up — not at all — but it’s a celebration and not something I’d willingly miss. I could describe some of the characters there but I won’t.
Instead, I’ve been thinking about the celebrations we had when I was younger. Much younger.
Patriotism was a big thing when I was growing up. We said the Pledge of Allegiance in school each morning. We learned all fo the words to America, America the Beautiful, and The Star-Spangled Banner. And U.S. holidays weren’t just a day off work or school: they were a reason to celebrate our country.
Independence Day in our family meant a trip to Gettysburg. I have no idea how long it took to get there. To kids, time is different, and time in the car anticipating arrival at some place — any place — is forever. My guess is that we drove for an hour and a half. Google maps tells me that it currently takes about 52 minutes and basically we drove the same route then as today. But that was in the early 60’s and speed limits were lower. At least I think so.
The reason for our trip to Gettysburg? Well, it is an historic site, and yes, we did visit the Battlefield. They also have a great 4th of July parade and we attended that. But neither of those were the reason.
We probably wouldn’t have gone to Gettysburg had it not been for Aunt Stelle. Her actual name was Alice Estelle, and she was the sister of my great-grandmother, Salome. Aunt Stelle and her husband, Bill, owned a house in Gettysburg. A huge house in Gettysburg. I know, kid’s perspectives are off and I was very young. But it really was huge. I asked my mom when I saw her today and she confirmed this. It was a brownstone house, not the upright several stories tall type but only two stories and sprawling. It had a huge porch and little nooks where I could get away to read. It also had a large yard: very long, ending at a slope down to the railroad tracks. The grass was lush, the trees were tall and shady, and at the end of the yard was a fish pond — what today would be called a koi pond — with a stone wall surrounding it, a perfect place to sit peacefully and watch the fish, interrupted only by the occasional scream of one of the neighbor’s peafowl.
Funny how I remember so clearly places to get away and enjoy quiet, since that couldn’t have happened often. When I write that “we” went to Gettysburg, I don’t mean just my parents, my brother, my sister, and me. There was my great-grandmother, of course — we are talking her sister’s place — and her three children: my grandfather and my aunts Margie and Bert. Add to that all of their children and grandchildren — including me — and there was quite a crowd there. I assume that not everyone made it every year, and there were births along the way, so let’s say roughly 27+ people descending upon Aunt Stelle and Uncle Bill. I know that Aunt Stelle had two sons, and Uncle Bill may have had children of his own, but they weren’t around, at least not on the 4th of July. It was our family: my great-grandmother’s family.
I don’t remember what we ate. There must have been baked beans. There were always baked beans, thanks to one of my dad’s cousins. Straight from Kuppy’s Diner:
We also had baked beans on Christmas Eve, when the same group met at Mom-Mom’s house. But I have no idea what other foods we ate on the 4th of July.
I remember running in the yard, and playing croquet and scoop ball. I also remember all of the kids being piled into cars and taken to the battlefield. We would stop at Devil’s Den and climb rocks.
We’d also go to the tower, and at least once we climbed it.
I remember that because my dad’s cousin Bob — a cousin by marriage — was terrified and just couldn’t do it. I have my own fear of heights but at this point in time it wasn’t as bad as his, and his fear may have been what spurred me on to be able to make that climb.
I’m not sure how much of our trips to the battlefield were meant to educate the younger generation about that period in history — the Civil War years — and how much was meant to keep us out of trouble while waiting for food.
The food I don’t even remember.
But I do remember what happened after lunch: we walked into town. The house, the huge house, was on the outskirts of town and we needed to be at the center. We walked, past a vacant lot, then on sidewalks in front of houses, until we found the perfect spot. I don’t remember where that spot was or whether it was the same each year or who determined that we were in the right place. But I remember that we watched a parade. Sometimes we bought balloons or lemonade. But there was always a parade with bands and cars and horses and men in uniforms.
Some years were more elaborate. In 1963 we celebrated the hundredth anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg. I don’t remember what we did that was special — we waved handheld flags, but we did that every year. I think that year we also celebrated the delivery of the Gettysburg Address. The official centennial would have been in November, but I think we also celebrated in Juy.
And every year, not just in the centennial, there were likenesses of Abraham Lincoln.
He was a favorite in Gettysburg — probably still is. That’s the actual Abe Lincoln, not Abraham Lincoln Vampire Killer.
Some day I want to go back and see how accurately I remember.
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