I am an unabashed lover of the Fourth of July. I always have been. In 1992 I spent the holiday in jail trying to protect a confidential source. That wasn’t my favorite Fourth, though you’ll forgive my hubris if I think it was my most patriotic. My favorite Independence Day was the bicentennial. I also went to jail that year. Sort of.
My love for the Fourth comes from my grandfather, who emigrated to this country from Lebanon. He was a proud American. Each year he celebrated this country by claiming it was “always filled with possibilities.” We had a family barbecue and fireworks. After he passed, my dad continued the tradition.
