It’s a tradition 

Growing up, fourth of July weekend was when every family would barbecue, go to the beach, or get out of town.  

Every family except mine, that is.  Fourth of July weekend was when my mother was off from work, so she would want to clean the house, and hang the pictures that she’d been wanting to hang for months, and reorganize the attic, and parquet all the upstairs floors.  And she wanted help.  Which meant I got to spend the holiday weekend cleaning & polishing silverware, moving heavy boxes in an unairconditioned attic in 80 degree heat while everyone else was out having fun.  And at the end of the weekend, my mother would throw a fit about how nobody appreciated her.  

So here I am, a grown woman who has no idea how to celebrate the holiday weekend.  Do I barbecue, or beach it?  No, I hung some pictures and reorganized a book case.  

One thought on “It’s a tradition 

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