God gave us memory so that
We might have roses in December
James Barrie

When I was ten years old, the whole family celebrated the fourth of July in our backyard because it was large enough to put up a picnic table and still leave room for us children to play. That yard was a magic place with a cherry tree and a cellar door that caused all kinds of bottom problems because no one could resist sliding down it instead of using the back porch steps. World War II monopolized our lives that year and we were filled with love for our country and determination to destroy those awful ogres who were threatening our freedom.

My mother helped me plant a tiny victory garden and I nurtured it with the same love new parents lavish on their first-born. At first, my seedlings all died because endless insects ate all the green beginnings before they had a chance to sprout. My mother and I discussed the problem with Mr. Walters at the Toledo Garden Supply and he told us about a brand new spray called DDT that would save my vegetables. After I drenched the soil and the plants with this new miracle insecticide, I was able to harvest a smattering of gnarled, miniature carrots, lettuce that resembled over laundered green lace and radishes shaped like withered old men. Those vegetables looked picture perfect to me and I have never tasted salad as delicious as those produced from my very own garden that summer of '43.

July third, my mother and I got up early to make a huge chocolate cake with whole milk, a pound of butter and five eggs. My mother had been saving her ration stamps all month so she could buy all the ingredients for that dessert and have enough left over for the coffee and hot dog rolls we'd need for our celebration. My two aunts contributed some of their coupons too because this was a family party. We wanted to forget the terrible things that were happening overseas and just have fun.

The smell of that cake in the oven after a month of Jell-O desserts and meatless dinners was as intoxicating as the aroma of Seagram's must be to an alcoholic. When the cake cooled, Mama and I covered it with a white boiled frosting and I stuck red cinnamon candies in it that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA. "We'll put the little flags around it tomorrow, Lynnie," said my mother.

My cousin Jessica came over that afternoon and we decorated the outside of the house with red, white and blue banners because we were planning to present a holiday show for all our relatives and friends. We rehearsed our song and dance routines and practiced twirling our batons for the grande finale when we marched around the yard waving the American flag singing The Star Spangled Banner.

We had spent the whole month of June learning the words to the songs from that new patriotic musical, THIS IS THE ARMY. I sang the melodies and Jessica did the accompaniment because she was younger. "All your songs have the same melody," commented my mother during one of our practice sessions.

"They do NOT," I said and I tried not to let her see the tear rolling down my cheek. "This is the army, Mr. Jones!" I sang.

"Um pah pah, um pah pah," intoned Jessica.

I took a very deep breath and then opened my mouth again. "I left my heart at the stage door canteeeen," I crooned.

"Tweedle, dum diddle dee," trilled Jessica.

I gave my mother a triumphant look. "See?" I said. "You'd have to be deaf not to be able to tell the difference."

"There is nothing wrong with my hearing," said my mother and I could swear I saw a smile on her face as she turned to go into the kitchen.

The next morning, after my father left for his golf game, Mama and I prepared the food for our picnic. We boiled potatoes and eggs for the potato salad and mixed them with whole egg mayonnaise. We let it sit on the counter to marinate. "It always tastes better if the dressing gets a chance to really soak into the potatoes," explained my mother.

We layered beans, brisket and catsup in a casserole and shucked the corn so it was ready to boil at the last minute. I picked green onions and carrots from my bug free garden for the relish plate. By that time my two aunts arrived to help set the table. When everything was ready, my mother and her two sisters put on their bathing suits and spread towels in the back yard for their sun-baths. They covered their skins with oil and let the sun turn them a rosy brown color while they gossiped about the young girls who were getting pregnant because they were playing fast and loose at USO parties.

My boy cousins sat on the front porch smoking cigarettes they had stolen from their Father's pockets and discussed clever tricks to convince the draft board that they were eighteen despite their acne and the way their voices cracked when they got nervous. My girl cousins talked about how disgusting the dating situation was and how to draw lines with eyebrow pencil down the backs of their legs so they would look like they were wearing silk stockings.

At three o'clock, my father came home from his game and my two uncles joined him in the yard. Mother and her sisters had changed into shorts and halters and began cooking while Jessica and I presented our show. Our audience was very small because our parents were busy being adults and our older cousins had outgrown silly things like singing patriotic songs. Two year old Mary Kaplan came over from next door and Aunt Hazel's dog Sparky watched us attentively because he was so well trained. Mother's canary sang along with us and Mrs. Bloom who lived behind us waved to us from her porch. When we finished, Sparky barked so loudly that we decided to take a curtain call. Mary Kaplan had wet her diaper and left the performance while I was doing my ballet to "The White Cliffs of Dover."

Our picnic began at five o'clock. We all devoured the potato salad that had been sitting in the summer heat since early morning and Mama broiled those skimpy war time hot dogs filled with the offal the butchers didn't use and colored with red dye until they split open and their synthetic juices bubbled up like lava. We covered them with mustard and stuffed them into hot dog buns made of bleached white flour and not much else. We slathered our corn with salt and whole fat butter and everyone ate at least two ears of corn. I had three and was so full I could barely manage two helpings of that delicious cake with my glass of lemonade.

Daylight Savings Time had begun that year and we all got to stay up an extra hour to watch the fireworks. When the sun finally set, we joined all the neighbors in front of the house and lit firecrackers in the street. The whole sky was filled with sparkling light and sulfur fumes filled the air with their heady perfume. It was glorious!

We had no idea that the food we had eaten was grown in soil depleted by insecticides and covered with poisons that would spawn new forms of cancer no one could cure. We didn't know that our blood would never manage to plow through our clogged veins after all that cholesterol we'd consumed or that we had ingested so much red dye and synthetics that our attention spans were destroyed, not to mention the salmonella that had flourished in that marvelous potato salad that cost so many ration points. Our cousins didn't realize that they were destroying their lungs with the tobacco smoke from their unfiltered cigarettes and that they would probably be in oxygen tents long before they could get down to the draft board and convince the army they would make brave and fearless soldiers.

It never occurred to our mothers as they cooked themselves in the afternoon sun that their skin would be scabbed with malignancies before menopause. They didn't think they were being treated like objects instead of people, forced to be maids and sex objects while their chauvinist husbands sat around polluting the air with smoke and ignoring their emotional needs.

None of us objected to dispatching our youth to be slaughtered for our country or giving up the food and conveniences we loved for the war effort. We believed in America with all our hearts and celebrated its birthday filled with patriotic love. We went to bed content as innocent lambs blind to the havoc we had done to our digestive systems and our moral integrity. The only thing we would remember about July 4, 1943 was that everyone had a wonderful time.

The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten
Cesare Pavese