Looking Up

July 4, 1962

I’m 13 and my friend Julie and I are in a row-boat with my mom and step dad in the middle of Echo Park Lake. Before the word “tween” is coined, we are just awkward. Not yet adult, but certainly not kids and we do not want to be seen with parents, but walk 14 steps behind them as if to say to the world, “Parents? Nope. I’m a free agent. I’ve never seen those old people in my life!” 

Leo has only been my step dad since last September – not even a year. I can’t stand how he puts his arm around my mom’s waist right in front of me. Julie is by my side in total empathy. Imagine our embarrassment at having to sit with both of them with our knees only inches from their back sides. Thank heaven the sun has gone down.

I keep staring into the water hoping some giant squid will fancy us for dinner, take us in his tentacles and pull us under the black surface of this kiddy pond and out of sight… just in case any of my Jr. High School friends should happen to catch me with my parents. Ugh. So embarrassing.

To his credit, Papa Leo has pulled off an amazing feat getting us tickets to be right UNDER the fireworks as they are shot off from the north side of the park directly over the lake. But he’ll never replace my Dad the L.A. Times Staff Photographer, my Dad the artist, my Dad the author. My real Dad. I miss my Dad. 

Mom keeps making small talk asking Julie, who moved from her rightful home in Echo Park several years ago over to the Miracle Mile area off Wilshire Boulevard, “So, how is Bancroft Jr. High, Julie, and where is your brother Mark going to High School?”

“Fine. Fairfax.”

Dutifully answered. Kindly even. Julie has no problem just loving my mother. My mom and Julie’s house-keeper Hattie spend more time mothering Julie than does her own mom who is very busy with lunch dates, art classes and work, but not with her kids. That’s Hattie’s job. Ethel’s house is run with military precision, smells faintly of mothballs, linseed oil and lemon Pledge. Ethel, like my father used to, paints in oils. I like going to Julie’s house. I like how it smells and that they always eat at the same time every day. The only difficult day is Saturday. Well, SaturDAY is OK, it’s Saturday night that’s the problem. That’s when Julie’s dad hollers. He makes sure to get his hollering done for the entire week on Saturday nights, I think, because he works many nights and doesn’t want to lose-out on getting out all the anger that’s inside him. I’m OK with her dad’s hollering and her brother Mark’s teasing because sometimes Julie gives me hand-me-ups of clothes she doesn’t want any more. She has a lot of clothes. And because the food is wonderful at Julie’s house.

 Sunday brunch is my favorite. Ethel’s mom and dad, “Bubba” and “Zaida” come over. Bubba has neat braids pinned over her crown like a built-in head-band. Zaida has amazing bulging eyes that look as if they’ll pop right out of their sockets if he coughs or laughs too hard. He’s fond of pinching our noses and showing us how he’s caught them. We learned ages ago that it’s his thumb, but he keeps doing it. 

On Sundays Hattie toasts poppy-seed and onion bagels. There’s plenty of smooth, creamy cream cheese, white fish, lox and herring – usually without a single bone – all arranged just-so on a big white platter. Julie’s dad often sleeps-in and comes to the breakfast table in his robe. Sometimes on Sundays when I stay-over they take me to the beach with them. Mike (Julie’s dad) goes fishing from the sand - just back of the water-line. Julie and I build sand castles and keep the sand crabs in a bucket.

I remember one Fourth of July when I was at the beach with Julie’s family and we saw fireworks all up and down the coast. It was so beautiful. The sight of it stayed with me a long, long time.

This Fourth of July Julie and I are together again, in this silly boat with lots and lots of other boats around us. In fact, the clump of boats is almost as thick as the clump of mosquitoes swarming around us. Some boys are holding onto the sides of theirs and rocking and rocking, trying to tip-over or just splash themselves - I’m not sure which. Boys are always so show-offy. Their dad just sits there and rocks with the boat. I practice looking totally bored because I think that’s what girls are supposed to do, but what the boys are doing looks like fun. And besides, rocking ‘til we flip over seems like a better option than waiting around for a giant squid. I model for Julie holding on and begin to rock my torso side to side. We’re both rocking. Her arm is crossed over mine and we can just barely grasp both edges of the dinghy.

My folks, on the seat in front of us, look back. 

“Hey quit rockin’ the boat!” 

Mom has only recently stopped being sick to her stomach most mornings. She says I’m going to be a big sister in December. Maybe she doesn’t want to be reminded of that sick feeling. We stop rocking.

I wish the fireworks would start already and we could get this over with. 

Finally! Some hubbub on the shore. A fizzly sound, a pop and, “Whoa!” The bombs bursting in air… gave proof through the night that at least the flag on the boathouse was still there. This is more like it. Everyone yells, “Ooooh! Aaaaaaah!” This is cool! I watch the sky, then the water reflecting the colors all wibble-wobbly. I love how the sound comes after the fact of the exploding light. Someone explained to me all about sound waves traveling slower than light waves. Still, I think the sound has to hold its own ears because it’s so loud and it is that pause for ear-holding that makes the sound late for its own party. 

This is quite a party. Plenty of red, white and blue… but I like the green and gold dandelion bursts best of all… from the center out-ward then some dandelion fluff within the bigger dandelion bursts to keep the explosion going even longer. All the while the sparkles are spraying down.

Something you might not think about while you’re watching fireworks is that they come boxed in paper or cardboard and that when they’re shot into the air, sometimes the packaging is still around the business part of the display… and it can catch fire... and it always comes back down.

So, here we are on the lake in this boat, surrounded by waaay lot of other boats, watching the show and all of a sudden a flaming piece of cardboard is falling out of the sky right toward our boat. Papa Leo stands up and starts flapping his arms toward the flaming bit of cardboard. The boat is rocking and mom and Julie and I scream and grip the sides. Mom uses one hand to hold Leo’s pant waist. By the light of the fireworks I can see his face is set. He’s not going to let that flaming box land in our boat. He swats it away and it falls, Ssssssppppffftt, into the water. People in the boats around us clap and shout “Bravo! Leo makes a little bow and sits down again next to mom. She puts her arm around his waist. I want to throw up. Where’s a squid when you need one?

Happy Sane Celebratory Fourth to you! And please rock the boat as much as you want.