I was making coffee early on the Fourth of July when I heard the ping of a text message.
It was my friend Mary.
“Do you have a parade today in your neighborhood?” she asked. Her son, Will, is a volunteer firefighter, and he had told her he would be riding an engine through our neighborhood.
We do, in fact, have a neighborhood parade on the Fourth of July. As a family with fast-growing teenagers, though, we haven’t gone in years.
The parade is designed for the young children of the neighborhood. They decorate their bicycles, wear their most patriotic outfits, and ride their bicycles for a few blocks until they reach a snowball truck. It couldn’t be more charming.
And, members of the Lutherville Volunteer Fire Company bring their engines every year and lead the parade, as the children follow along behind.
I couldn’t believe that Mary’s son was going to be riding a fire engine through our neighborhood. But I knew I had to be there to see him.
So, even though I had no decorated bicycle or child young enough to ride one, I headed over to the parade. I surveyed the scene, carefully walking past each engine, looking for Will—who, it’s worth noting, I hadn’t seen in person in quite some time. He’s a former classmate of our oldest son, but they’ve been in separate schools for a few years, and sometimes you lose track of your friends’ children.
Still, I felt sure I would recognize him, even in his firefighter gear. And, as I came up on a historic engine, I spotted him. I noticed immediately that he was right where he was meant to be. He looked happy and at home.
All mothers love photos of their children, especially when they are doing what they do best—what they love best. So, I took a few pictures of Mary’s teen on the truck to confirm that it was her son and texted them to her. She was delighted.
Then I followed the parade route to the snowball truck, capturing photos and videos along the way—and sent them to Mary, too.
When we reached the end of the route, the firefighters parked the engines and opened the doors so the children could climb inside. I watched as Will and his fellow firefighters welcomed young fire engine enthusiasts with wide eyes and a thousand questions. And I thought of how proud she must be of her firefighter—heading into his senior year in high school and ready for a career in public service.
I first met Will when he was in first grade, and we haven’t seen each other much in a few years. But when I saw that he had a free moment, I walked up and said hello and thanked him for being there.
Will was friendly and welcoming. He didn’t ask me why I came to a parade when I didn’t have a child with a patriotic bicycle. He figured out, I’m sure, that I had come for his mom. Because that’s what moms do. We show up for our children, we show up for each other, and we show up for each other’s children. We thank them and support them and cheer them on.
And I will be cheering Will on for years to come—with deep gratitude for him and for all those who serve so selflessly in so many ways. They keep us safe. They preserve our freedom. They make us proud.
“If we wish to serve God and love our neighbor well, we must manifest our joy in the service we render to Him and them,” said St. Katharine Drexel. “Let us open wide our hearts. It is joy which invites us. Press forward and fear nothing.”
This Fourth of July, as we celebrate the birth of our nation, may we reflect with gratitude on all that we enjoy in this land of the free and the home of the brave. And may God bless those who show up every day, whether for planned celebrations or for unexpected tragedy. What an incredible example they set for us in how to bring the love of Christ to others.
As for Mary and me, you will find us standing on the sidewalk together at the parade this year, cheering for our favorite firefighter.
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