J. EDMUND BARNES

The Fourth of July is a special date in the history of our country. It is a day when we get together with our families and drink beer, eat barbecue and watch fireworks. I personally plan to spend the day on the beach in Waveland at my uncle’s house sipping Dixie, cooking chicken breasts and thighs until they are nicely charcoaled, maybe playing some frisbee or volleyball and watching my uncle and his neighbors blow up the beach. Blowing up the beach has become a tradition to my uncle and his beach front neighbors. It used to be simply a box full of firecrackers and a punt. It has evolved into a carefully choreographed display of pyrotechnic skill. A friend of mine, a former artilleryman, walked down to the beach and stared in awe of the row of mortar tubes that had been set up in preparation of the event. Not quite one of those multimillion dollar affairs that they rent a barge to use as the launch pad, but close. No children are allowed within the perimeter where the fireworks are kept. The shells are set to burst over the water, but some inaccuracy is expected, so kids around the tubes are strictly verboten. Considering the competition that they face with the casinos down the beach, my uncle and his neighbors do a pretty good job. And while the bombs burst over the Gulf of Mexico, I might even think a little bit about the freedoms that were declared 200-odd years ago. “We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal,” and all that. The Bill of Rights was still more than a decade away when Jefferson presented the Declaration. The Louisiana Territory belonged to Spain. The Emancipation Proclamation was almost a century away. My favorite amendment, the 21st, was even further away. But it was a start. A good start. J. EDMUND BARNES is a sports reporter for L’Observateur. Call him at (985) 652-9545.