It’s the 4th of July and we are headed to Grandma and Grandpa’s house as usual. we hop into the car and sit in our unspoken designated seats. My brother always gets behind the driver and I get the behind the passenger seat. The ride goes on and I can feel my eyes getting heavy. The sound of the tires against the asphalt, the faint beat I can hear coming from my brother’s headphones, while the radio plays in the background. The 4-hour drive feels like it gets longer and longer every year. We arrive and I hop out of the car and see nothing but fields for four-wheeling. Acre upon acre of untouched land waiting to be explored. I hear another car coming up the gravel driveway which will be the first of many as we always have a family reunion for this special occasion. The house is packed for dinner with over 20 people standing in Grandma’s tiny kitchen. Apple decor covers the walls from top to bottom. I go over and reach out to touch one of the apples. My fingers skid along its rigid texture. The smell of prime rib fills the house making my stomach grumble. The table isn’t big enough for all of us so the kids head to the living room and sit on the floor. My plate has prime rib, salad, carrots, and a baked potato. As I take a seat, in what feels like slow motion, my baked potato rolls right off my plate and hits the floor with a thud. In this house, we run off of the “5 second rule”. After dinner, we clean up and head outside for fireworks. I pop open my Grandpa’s tailgate, hop in, and lay underneath a starless night. I lay there staring at the moon and leave the reality that I’m in until, BANG! The first firework sets off and brings me back to the real world. I sit up and watch in awe as all sorts of colors light up the sky. My favorite firework are the ones that pop and then sound like rice crispies. Grandpa made sure to get a lot of those this year. Our night ends with cheers and claps from everyone as we all head inside in hopes to find a comfortable place to sleep for the night.

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