The 4th of July has always been my official favorite holiday.

Ever since I was a baby, we have been going to my grandma and grandpa's for the 4th. Although us kids have grown up and things have changed, the sentimentality of the 4th and the priveledge of being an American still gets to me each year. My grandparent's house is arguably one of my favorite places on earth for the memories, the family and the love that it is filled with.

My grandparents live in one of the most beautiful neighboorhoods in all of Orange County. Floral Park is made up of many blocks of ranch and period revival residential architecture in Santa Ana, California, bordered by Broadway, 17th St., Bristol and Memory Lane. Its a slice of pure Americana. Fully grown trees act as a canopy for large yards and charming homes, each with its own personality. Its the type of neighborhood where they still do old time 4th of July parades, everyone has an American flag out for the occasion, and the impressive Federalist revival homes drape full-sized flags from their two-story entry porticos (see photo at left- my favorite Floral Park home which is also on the Historic Registry). Its a snapshot of a neighboorhood from the "good old days" complete with white picket fences, friendly neighboors that say hello in passing, and children playing in the street.

When I was little, 4th of July gave me license to run around in my bathing suit and drink as many Coca-Colas as I could (no one was keeping count). The radio was tuned to "oldies" and over that background of hits from the 50's and 60's would be, undoubltey, a baseball game on the TV. The sound of a good baseball announcer reminds me of my dad, summer, and the 4th of July. The smell of hamburgers on the BBQ filled the air- if not from our backyard, then the yards of neighbors. Throughout the day, the sound of random firecrackers and screaming Pickle O' Pete's could be heard from blocks away. The anticipation of summer, (which, accoriding to Grandpa officially starts on the 4th), ends since today it finally feels like its here.

When not swimming, us kids were in the front cul-d-sac playing a serious game of kick the can or hide and seek. Fat tree trunks, beautifully landscaped yards and lots of cars parked along the street made for the best hiding spots. The boys and dads would throw the football around, horseshoes and croquet were set up on the front lawn and bikes were taken out for us to ride across the neighborhood bridge. Grandpa would sit with us on the swing and tell us wild stories of the adventures of "Tom, Dick and Harry" and other versions where us kids were the superheros.

My favorite thing at the BBQ was always the light green pistachio pudding Grandma made (which still doesn't turn out the same when I make it myself). As dusk approached and the hot day cooled down from the ocean breeze, we all begged our parents to let us start fireworks early. When they said "no", we woud sit in one of the guest rooms and count the stash, debate over which one should be the grande finale and hammered pickel o' petes for maximun sound when finally lit. Fireworks always started with sparklers, then gradually led up to the bigger, fancier ones. Santa Ana is still one of the few California cities where street fireworks are legal. Sure, it doesn't compare to a big fireworks show... unless, of course, you grew up doing it this way. You can hear the big booms and crackles of the fireworks from Anaheim Stadium and Disneyland a few miles away. When we finished our show on the street, we would go up on the roof to see the last of the big ones in the sky.

No matter how old I get- this is the 4th of July that lives in my heart. I love America...the home of the free, and the land of the brave. I hope everyone has a fun and safe 4th of July!