My brother’s a war hero. He’s a two-time combat veteran who served in Iraq and won the Bronze Star. We waited for him to come home from war the second time to become the godfather of my only son and youngest of my four children. He lives in Arkansas because he works “for Walmart, not at Walmart” corporate HQ in security. I’ve never been great at geography so when he moved I had to ask him where Arkansas was. I only really know the coastal states, the flyover ones in the middle all look the same.
So John put in a pool he and my lovely sister-in-law Diana are excited about and we’re flying to see it for the 4th this weekend. I’ll find the state of Arkansas and see this pool because I love John and Diana and have I mentioned the freedom speech? Since John went to war, if you don’t do things he loves, like make his favorite buffalo chicken wings at a family gathering, he says, “You know what they didn’t have in Iraq?” and we all know the answer is chicken wings, or the latest Philadelphia Eagles gear, new limited edition bottle of bourbon, and then that thing becomes called “freedom wings,” etc. In our family, as in many others, anything traumatic is fodder for humor because that’s a perpetual defense mechanism and survival tactic. War and death aren’t funny, but around family gatherings we joke about both because who wants to sit around depressed and crying? Not us.
John and Diana are the quintessential hosts and we’ll have an amazing time, spoiled with food and drink, and the trip will go too quickly. They’ve spoiled my four adult children across their lifetimes. In addition to being my son’s godfather, John’s been the officiant in two of my daughters’ weddings—he’s in our family group chat, which anyone in a modern technology world knows is as close as you can get to a family. He spends too much money Venmoing those adult children for holidays, and they’re so grateful for him. I’ve written about him before, mentioning that he used to send me quarters taped to letters when he was a kid and I went away to college, broke and paying tuition myself. I returned the favor when he was at war and I sent snacks and historical books about war. He appreciated the snacks and still gives me shit about the war books: “Yeah, Mare you know what I felt like reading in the few moments I had outside my tank between combat and war and death? Some light reading about combat and war and death.”
For many years he’s visited us in Maryland and set off ridiculous fireworks, which he prefers to do himself because of the PTSD from attending fireworks shows. This year will be a simpler celebration for our family, filled with fun events. None of us supports the current political climate and as a veteran my brother has had to take breaks from social media from expressing his opinions over the nation he believes he fought for versus the one today. The No Kings events today resonate as we celebrate and remember the true meaning of this holiday: a Declaration of Independence from a nation that would have us bow to a king when we wanted only liberty. As Philadelphians, my brother and I proudly honor the founding of this nation and the importance of the holiday we celebrate.
