By SUSAN DROMEY HEETER, JoyFul Musings
Happy 4th of July, Joyful Musers, or, as I’m writing to you from the North Shore of Massachusetts, it may be more apropos to say, “Happy 4th of Coli” – those sewage leaks have me a bit nervous but it’s warm and sunny and a good day to celebrate 250 years whether or not you go into the sea.
Anyway, Happy 250, America! I’m old enough to remember celebrating the Bicentennial – it was 1976 and I was 13 ready to head into my 8th Grade year at Holy Name School in Springfield, Mass. Our neighbors had a big barbeque and my Dad sat grandly on his old school folding chair smoking a Chesterfield, delighting in a day off. My Dad was the son of Margaret Donovan Dromey, a woman who’d immigrated from Cork, Ireland along with her husband, Patrick. My Dad grew up sleeping on a couch in the living room, living with his two sisters; his brother John died in childhood. He loved the 4th of July, he loved education, he loved his family, he loved his country.
If Tom Dromey were alive today, he’d be 99 years old. But, as he died from a heart attack at 55, he’d not have been a “good” 99. He couldn’t swim, never went to the dentist, did not own jeans and used baked potato skins as ashtrays after our nightly dinner.
But America and her history allowed his children to learn to swim, to have their own beds, to earn advanced degrees, to celebrate 250 years with freedoms unknown to so many. 250 years is an abundance of days, an abundance of blood, sweat and tears, an abundance of toil. And all six children of Tom Dromey are alive and older than 55, can swim, keep regular dentist appointments, wear jeans and, as far as I know, do not use baked potato skins as ashtrays.
Birthdays should always be celebrated no matter what the state of the mind, world or beach bacterial count. After the Bicentennial, I went to an 8th Grade where I insisted my Social Studies teacher refer to me as Ms. Dromey, as my platform shoe wearing “lay teachers” insisted upon Ms. for themselves. I loved them for that, fueling a confidence and liberation that has stayed with me for fifty years. I thank my country and celebrate her birth as she has allowed so many the confidence and liberation too many in this world do not have.
Are we perfect? Certainly not. But are we progressing? Oh, absolutely. Happy Birthday, America! Hang tight – and perhaps for the 300th Birthday I’ll be a “good” 113 years old. I muse joyfully today you are celebrating your country, your choices, your day. Happy, Happy 4th and Happy, Happy Birthday.
Susan Dromey Heeter writes from Newmarket and often from the road where she joyfully muses on life in the fast and slow lanes. She drives a stick shift, can also ride a unicycle and recently retired after 30+ years of teaching. Dromey Heeter finds joy primarily in Milk Duds and people who make her laugh, not necessarily in that order. Follow Susan @dromeyheeter on Instagram and/or @BudgetVogue63. She can also be reached at dromeyheeter@gmail.com.