From the Editor: Red, White, and Remembered

I was a teenager during America’s Bicentennial in 1976—old enough to understand the significance of the moment, but still young enough to get swept up in the celebration of it all. Red, white, and blue seemed to appear everywhere that summer, and patriotism felt woven into daily life in a way that was difficult to miss, even in the pocket change. Bicentennial quarters were everywhere!

But as memorable as that summer was, the Fourth of July celebrations that remain closest to my heart come from the years before it, when the holiday centered less on national milestones and more on my family’s traditions (and fireworks, obviously).

Some of my earliest memories of 4th of July celebrations are also some of the sweetest. In those days, the Fourth was never about elaborate plans or expensive celebrations. My daddy would buy a few simple fireworks to set off in our driveway. Sparklers and those strange little black pellets that would grow into long curling “snakes” when lit are still among the first things that come to mind when I think about Independence Day.

In those days, fireworks came with a healthy respect for safety. Children’s hands held nothing more incendiary than a sparkler. My daddy always made sure a bucket of water sat within easy reach before anything was lit. As dusk settled in, he would carefully hand each of us one of the aforementioned sparklers, and for a few magical minutes, our little driveway became the center of the universe. But the night was not over when our own fireworks fizzled out.

Afterward, we would climb onto the concrete retaining wall that separated our yard from our neighbors, the Hills (we were often joined here by their daughter, Nancy), and wait for the real finale. At 9 p.m. sharp, Disneyland would begin its nightly fireworks show. I grew up in Buena Park, California, during the 1960s and early 1970s, which meant unobstructed views toward Anaheim. On the Fourth of July, the display seemed bigger, brighter, louder, and endless. From our perch on that wall, we had front-row seats to it all. We saved most of our oohs and ahhs for the patriotic red, white, and blue fireworks that lit up the sky each Fourth of July.

Now, as America celebrates its 250th birthday, I find myself reflecting on how patriotism often lives not in grand gestures, but in moments like those. It lives in family traditions and neighborhood memories. It is carried by the generations who quietly pass both freedom and responsibility forward.

Today, one of the objects I treasure most is my father’s folded flag, a reminder of his World War II service and the sacrifices made by so many Americans before him. That spirit of service continued in my own family through one sister’s time in the Navy, and another’s in the Air Force. Their service, like my father’s, reminds me that the freedom we celebrate each Fourth of July is never guaranteed.

It is earned. It is protected. And it is handed down from generation to generation. Perhaps that is why certain objects carry such deep meaning for us.

As collectors, we understand something important about objects and memory. A family heirloom, a photograph, a folded flag, or even a handful of Bicentennial quarters may become our personal links to the past. They connect us not only to history and family, but by extension, to one another.

This Fourth of July, I hope you find time to celebrate America’s 250th birthday in whatever way feels meaningful to you. Maybe it is through fireworks, family traditions, a treasured heirloom, or simply quiet gratitude for those who came before us.

This year, I will celebrate with my family and friends here in Texas. I’m hoping for brisket and ribs, my sister’s potato salad, a peach cobbler for dessert, and my city’s annual fireworks show as the finale. But in my memory, I’ll still be watching from that wall with my siblings and parents as the Disneyland fireworks show lights up the sky over Southern California.