America's Romance with Holidays (July 4 Edition)

I don't know if we Americans are unique in this respect, but I suspect we are particularly out of touch with the meanings of our holidays.

Oh sure — we know the backstories. Well most of them, anyway; I am taking a wild guess that most people do not realize that Memorial Day isn't really to commemorate the unofficial start of the summer season actually but rather to honor the US Civil War dead with a holiday originally called Decoration Day.

But, despite what the War on Christmas crowd would have us believe, United States holidays about the United States are even more secular and hedonistic. They are about time away from work — Thursday holidays are the best, like this July 4, since many employers also bridge those Friday waters to the weekend.

I'm no better, and this isn't a screed about suffering like our forefathers (and foremothers, who undoubtedly suffered more) the better to celebrate their sacrifice for our mostly excellent way of life. Much as I should, I won't be wiping away a tear as I recall the difficult-to-comprehend bravery of those guys who signed the Declaration of Independence 237 years ago, daring the world's only superpower to set sails and wipe them out.

But, I do remember, on each US holiday, an incident in my youth, and a very special teacher who in losing her composure ever so slightly over the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. taught me to at least remember now and then.

Mrs. Frazier was African-American at a time when the word "Negro" was an acceptable alternative and when women were still required to announce their marital status via honorific. She was rock solid, one of the two star teachers in my elementary school, and one of the very few teachers whose name I cannot forget.

On the day after King was murdered, Mrs. Frazier was unable to completely maintain her teacher's composure (as the son of two New York City schoolteachers I was well versed in the cues, gestures and glances teachers used to keep control). She spoke from the heart, with just enough anger to be keep everyone's attention. And she stood with that other teacher, Miss Mendoza, who was white and said nothing, for effect.

Informing us that school would be closed for a day to honor King, she paused and leaned in and nearly scolded us in advance not to consider this a day off, to play and have fun. This was a terrible thing, she intoned, and we were to think about it.

It was frightening in that way unexpectedly stern talk from an adult you know as friendly and patient is to a 10-year-old. But she wasn't being mean. She was angry at what had happened in a personal way I probably still can't completely appreciate.

She was asking us — teaching us — to at least remember the reasons for our good fortune.

So, I won't be toasting Thomas Jefferson per se tomorrow. But I will be doing a little remembering.

Photo: Archive Photos via Getty Images

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