Write about fireworks.

Dale and me, age 16

Anaheim, California

Summer 1972

It is the 4th of July. I am 12 or 13 years old. It is the late 1960's. I am in the San Bernardino mountains in Southern California, at a cabin in the community of Lake Gregory. I am there with my parents, my brother, Mr. and Mrs. Wright (who own the cabin), Mr. and Mrs. Carlson and their two children, Dale (my age) and Jeanine (my brother's age). My parents have been friends with the Carlsons since the mothers met in 1960, when Dale and I were in the same pre-school class in Sierra Madre, California. My parents and the Carlsons had a lot in common -- primarily that they were in their late 30's when all us kids were adopted.

We've been coming to the Wrights' cabin for years. Dale and Jeanine are like siblings to me. We've grown up together, spent hours playing together and getting into trouble together. My family now lives in Diamond Bar, and the Carlsons in Anaheim. We don't get to see each other as often as we did when we all lived in Sierra Madre, so when we get together we always have a lot fun.

Dale is only a few months older than I am, but he is much more worldly and mature. He has a passion for all things government, and loves to sit and talk politics with the adults. He can garner all their attention. They seem to respect his opinions. I do not understand the concepts of most of what Dale talks about, and I especially do not understand why politics are interesting to him. As Dale opines on matters political, I am bored and alone. Because Bruce and Jeanine are younger than I am, I do not want to play with them. They are in their own world. I wish Dale would just shut up and play with me.

This 4th of July is hot. The mountains smell of pine trees and sap. The air is crisp; the smog that would eventually kill many of the trees has not yet encroached this far up the mountain, as it would in the ensuing 20 years. The Wrights' cabin is surrounded by woods. Pine tree needles carpet the ground. The area is abundant with squirrels in search of the pine cone nuts.

Behind the cabin is a steep hill that leads down to a stream. We kids are agile at negotiating the embankment. Part of the stream is deep enough to get into -- not enough to swim, but enough to get good and wet. If we follow the stream, it leads to an apple orchard. We can walk through the orchard, but we know not to pick the apples.

This 4th of July Dale is different. Instead of being the playful buddy I'm accustomed to, he tells me he has started kissing girls. I'm embarrassed. I've never been kissed. The boys at school aren't interested in me that way. Mostly they ignore me, or they bully me and tell me I'm fat and ugly. 

Dale tells me about French kissing. Explains to me that the boy and girl stick their tongues in each other's mouths. I've never heard of such a thing! I'm disgusted. Dale says he wants to French kiss me. I've always thought of Dale as a brother. I've never imagined kissing him. I've imagined kissing Randy Urbauer and Tim Crocker since the fourth grade. Have practiced by pressing my closed lips against my pillow and moaning with passion, just like Doris Day and Howard Keel in my favorite movie, Calamity Jane.

As we walk down the stream and head to the apple orchard, Dale takes my hand. No one has ever held my hand before. He intertwines our fingers. His touch sends electricity through my body. The feelings frighten me. "Something" feels wrong, but it also feels exciting. But I am more motivated by fear than excitement, thinking about the beating I would most certainly receive from my strict parents were they to find out. I already know I won't be permitted to date until I'm 16. 

Each time Dale tries to kiss me, I pull away from him. We play cat and mouse for a while. I agree to the kiss, then, before his lips touch mine, I chicken out. At first Dale is gently persuasive. However, he eventually becomes frustrated with me and leaves to return to the cabin. I follow behind like a castigated puppy. Dale no longer has any interest in me. I am confused and upset.

Dale spends the rest of the day ignoring me. I cannot redeem myself to him. We eat our 4th of July feast -- BBQ'ed hamburgers and hot dogs, fried chicken, jello salad, potato salad, and strawberry shortcake for dessert -- all homemade -- it IS the 1960's! The highlight of the holiday will be a fireworks display over the lake. 

As Dale continues to ignore me, I feel my agitation increase. I am conflicted by my naïveté, my curiosity, the expectations of chastity already imposed on me by abusive parents, and the fear that I will never be reconciled to Dale. As I struggle with my options, I realize it will be dark by the time we go to the lake. In the dark, my sins can be hidden! I decide I will allow Dale to kiss me in the darkness.

As we pack up and head out to the lake in our respective cars, I am excited at my resolve. I anticipate my reconciliation with Dale, and am proud of myself for overcoming my fears. I'm ready to experience French kissing. I can still feel the sensation of his hand holding mine. This sensation and my anticipation make me light-headed and dizzy.

When we arrive at the lake we discover the road is jammed with cars. There is nowhere to park. As my father heads off in one direction to locate parking, I see the Carlsons' car turn down a different road. I feel myself panic. How will we be able to find each other in the darkness. I am furious with Mr. Carlson for not staying in the caravan.

Mr. and Mrs. Wright find us; we continued to look for the Carlsons -- to no avail. Finally, we walked to the lake, laid down our blankets in the sand and waited for the fireworks to began. I was thankful for the darkness; it hid the hot tears that streamed down my face. As fireworks exploded over Lake Gregory and the crowed oooooed and awed, I hated Dale for forcing French kissing upon me, and I hated the fates for cheating me out of my first kiss.