A rusty lime-green truck squealed to stop in front of the white Victorian house. Giant oak trees blocked the merciless summer sun as an older man limped through the white picket gate. He stopped to wipe his brow. It was an early July evening and the humidity was thick as honey. His gnarled hands carefully folded the monogrammed handkerchief as his deep voice called out, “I’ve come to take m’lady to the dance!”
The front door flew open and a little girl burst through the screen door. “Prince Charming, is that you?”
“Yes indeed m’lady. And I am quite charming.”
The little girl, with her olive skin and black eyes ran off the porch and into his arms, “GRANDPA!”
Her mother came to the door, “HEY, I thought I was your little princess!”
Leonard Chaplin looked at his daughter Lena and grinned, “You’ll always be my little princess. But today, I have a date with your daughter.”
“Oh OK. Thanks for taking Lola to the big Fourth of July Celebration, Dad. I have to study for my law class.”
Leonard opened the door and buckled the seven-year-old in tightly. “Welcome to my chariot, m’lady.” Lola giggled. She liked being a princess, even if her chariot was a rusty old Chevrolet.
“Where are we going Grandpa?” she asked as the small town rolled past.
“Tonight’s the town’s big Fourth of July Celebration. I brought your favorites: Fried chicken, Smith County watermelon and some macaroni cheese. And if we’re lucky, the old hens will give us some homemade ice cream.”
The old hens were the town’s ladies who had pursued Leonard since his wife Lucia had died three years ago. He also called them the Casserole Crew since they had a weird habit of showing up at his front door with a covered dish at dinner time. Being a widowed retired bank president had made him a most eligible bachelor in the hens’ eyes.
“Where’ll we park, Grandpa?” Lola was a worrier, much like her grandmother. “Look at the crowd!”
“Don’t worry, honey. One of the perks I still have is a reserved parking space at the bank.”
Most bank presidents would have driven a luxury car, something German with lots of leather. Not Leonard. But Leonard was different in many ways. He was quite content with his old truck and simple lifestyle. He had once survived on much, much less.
As they walked to the town square, Lola began to pepper her grandfather with questions. “Why do they call it Independence Day, Grandpa?” What is independence?”
Leonard told her about the founding fathers and the fateful day in 1776 when the Continental Congress declared freedom from England. It was a modern day equivalent of David vs. Goliath. It was, as Leonard told the small child, worthy of celebration.
“What’s freedom?” Lola continued.
“Your mother said that you asked a lot of questions. That’s OK. That’s a sign of intelligence.”
A thunderhead had popped up in the Western Delta toward the Mississippi River. It glowed orange as the sun began to dip below the ridge to the west of town. Leonard grabbed the cooler, a blanket and a couple of chairs. Lola stayed right next to him as they walked past the small church where her grandmother was buried.
“What’s freedom?” he repeated the question. If Leonard had had a free hand, he would have scratched his trim beard. “Freedom is something you truly don’t understand until you lose it.”
Lola had heard her mother talk about her grandfather being shot down over Vietnam. She also knew he was a prisoner of war. But she really didn’t know what that meant. She had once seen the scars on his back when he had had his t-shirt off.
“All I know is that Freedom is a gift given to us through my friends’ sacrifices. And it’s also something that we constantly have to fight for.”
“Like me fighting on the playground when Anna Beth pulled my hair? I punched her in the mouth.”
Leonard imagined the little girl throwing a punch. She as was ornery as her mother and grandmother.
“No, sweetheart. But you have to stand up for what you believe in. Sometimes you have to do things that are unpopular and tough because they are right.”
“Like Atticus Finch in ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’?”
Leonard was impressed his granddaughter knew of Harper Lee’s classic novel.
“Mom read it to me,” she continued proudly.
He grinned. It made sense. It was his daughter’s favorite book. She was always standing up for those who needed help. That was why she was becoming a lawyer.
They settled down as the town volunteer brass band butchered John Sousa’s classic marches. The mayor was in a dunking booth raising money for a new fire engine. Sam, the portly police chief was cooking on a grill as his officers served meals to the nursing home residents over by the Confederate soldier statue. Tree frogs and cicadas did their two part harmony, preparing the crowd. The crowd anxiously awaited the main event. It was a symphony of sights, smells and sounds.
Darkness finally laid her blanket over the small town as the stars took a front row seat to watch the pyrotechnics. A single shell exploded in a flaming shower of sparks. The concussion caused Leonard to jump three inches off the trim Bermuda grass. Loud noises had bothered him since the SAM missile ripped his A-4 Skyhawk into a million flaming pieces over Hanoi. He thought about his loss of freedom. How he had resisted the guards every chance he could. That resistance had allowed his spirit to survive their punishment and him to savor walking off the C-141 when he had been released. Leonard never took one moment of his freedom for granted ever again.
“I know why they shoot fireworks on Independence Day Grandpa.”
“Why’s that Princess?” Leonard was interested to hear what the little girl had to say.
“Freedom is a light in the darkness — but to get that light you have to make a little noise.”
Leonard hugged his brilliant little princess as the shells lit the inky Delta sky.
