I’ve had it starred on my calendar since December.
Every year at the high school, the town
puts on a big July Fourth fireworks show.
Everyone goes.

And because it’s one of the few family
traditions we’ve kept since Mom
left, even Princess Denise
doesn’t complain.

We get there an hour early, about eight,
and are greeted at the gate by a
small group of anti-war
demonstrators

waving signs that say: War Makes Men Dead!
and Get Them Out—NOW! I know Dad
is not for the war, but he is for
keeping his

full-time job at Glassboro State; he tries to
appear neutral in public so he doesn’t
get into trouble with the college
administration.

Denise and Harry hang out with the protestors,
which makes me think for the first time
about Harry: he’s twenty and not
a college guy,

so why, I wonder, hasn’t he got drafted yet? We get
settled on our blanket in the middle of
the football field and buy
some sparklers

from the concession stand. Harry and Denise
come back and spread their tie-dyed sheet
next to us. Harry knows that Dad
lives in his own world

and that Denise doesn’t care a lick if Harry’s nice
to me or not. So I’m surprised when he
offers me some popcorn and a swig
of his Coke,

then asks what I’ve been up to since school’s been done.
I dodge the question: “How come you’re not
fighting in Vietnam?” I ask. Denise
hears and starts

to curse at me, but Harry holds up his hand. “I don’t mind, Dee,”
he says to her, and then to me: “I’m color-blind, Lyza.
Turns out that those of us who can’t tell
red from green

don’t have to kill other young men who can—or at least,
not yet.” I ask him if he heard about Dixon.
“Yeah, I did—he doesn’t like this
war any more

than me, but he doesn’t want to run off to Canada,
either, to get out of being drafted.” Harry
shakes his head. “The whole
thing stinks. …”

Carolann’s family arrives. They set their chairs
and blankets next to us, and as we’re
twirling sparklers and watching
the first rockets

and pinwheels go off, I wonder: What must they look like
through Harry’s color-blind eyes? And what would
he see inside my kaleidoscope?
Then I think maybe …

if I say a special prayer tonight, God might make
Dixon color-blind just long enough
to keep him home
from Vietnam.

Rockets flare; I see faces of neighbors that Mom
knows, too. I imagine her in some new park
watching fireworks like she used to
watch them here with us.

July Fourth was one of her favorite holidays. “Hooray
for parades, fireworks, and nothing but
hot dogs to cook,” she’d say.
Now, when I

think of her twirling a patriotic pinwheel in some other
field in some other town (maybe even with
some other family), I wonder if she’s
remembering me, too.