Before I met Hubs, the Fourth was just a day for pool parties and slightly turned mayonnaise-based salads for me. We did fireworks, of course, as a child– but mainly we were just celebrating a day off. The kids in my neighborhood ran wild all day, the parents all got shitfaced, and at least one person always ended up with some kind of severe burn from being a dumbass with firecrackers.

It was the great American suburban dream.

Hubs, as you can imagine, is as patriotic as they come. He loves American history, loves reading about and discussing how we got where we are as a nation. Each Fourth, he reads to our children from A Patriot’s Reader, hangs our flag, and decorates our living room with all kinds of Americana stuff. He tears the garage apart looking for his 1776 flag. He drags us out to various events featuring marching bands, food from a cart, and mosquitoes. That man loves the Fourth of July, and loves our country. (He’s also fond of slightly turned mayonnaise-based salads. It brings him back to his youth as a Baptist preacher’s grandson.)

He’s already taught me so much that I never knew about our great country– and reminded me of things I promptly forgot after 5th grade history Social Studies. It is because of him that I have learned to really love and appreciate this day.

My very favorite Fourth of July was spent with him, four years ago.

Two weeks after we found out we were expecting Funk, I went with Hubs on a trip to New York City, where he was to attend a conference. I had never been there before, and even though I was going to be alone much of the time, I was eager to see the sights.I wandered around on the subway, alternately enthralled by everything NYC had to offer, and nauseous from the myriad smells that were testing my first-trimester pregnancy nose. (No one ever warns you just how stinky NYC is. Chinatown fish market? Bad idea.)

We were still in New York City on the Fourth of July, and decided to go to NYC’s big celebration and watch the fireworks over the water. We’d spent much of the day wandering around, and found ourselves near the MLK bridge at around 4pm– really too early to eat. There were already people getting into line, and we’re not one to miss out on a good line full of stinky New Yorkers, so we jumped on in. We figured we’d grab something later, once we had a place to sit to enjoy the show.

Stupid.

What we didn’t know– as we passed folks with coolers, chairs, blankets, and bags– was that there was nothing to eat or drink once we got into line. Nothing past the security checkpoints. No food, no water, and most distressing to someone 8 weeks pregnant, no bathroom.

We all marched up onto the MLK bridge, and staked out our square of scorching pavement. Kids ran around, families set up picnics, and we… sat.

We sat for  five hours. No food, no drink, no bathroom.

We sat next a young Thai family who hadn’t been in America very long– a couple and their infant daughter. We chatted comfortably back and forth, filling the time with stories and jokes. They opened up their basket of food to us, which we initially refused, but over time we were too hungry to be polite anymore. (That might remain the best damn fried chicken I’ve ever eaten in my life.)

I spent the time alternately enthralled with the moment, and nauseated and crabby. I missed Noise, who was back in St. Louis being crazy with my mother, but was also enjoying all the quality time I was getting with Hubs.

And when the fireworks began, it was breathtaking.

They shimmered and shone on the water, and everyone around us was transfixed. The din of celebratory beer drinkers and screaming children was finally subdued, made silent by the amazing show we were treated to. We stood next to our new friends, who were only beginning to appreciate the promise of this country, and I wept with my fortune to have been born here, as an American.

It was the first time that I really, truly, felt love for my country. Standing on a bridge in the middle of New York city, surrounded by stinky, sweaty thousands, trying not to pee my pants or barf on the pavement.

Happy Fourth of July.