(Editor’s Note: Although th Seattle show has apparently been cancelled, Independence Day fireworks displays are set for the marina in Des Moines, Angle Lake in SeaTac and Fort Dent Park in Tukwila.)

Why is it such a surprise that Seattle businesses don’t want to cough up thousands of dollars for fireworks that last just a few seconds each?

Our nation is in serious financial do-do, right now. Although the people might still feel a deep patriotism for the country, they are not too thrilled with the government.

And it’s not just these things that might affect the reasons that businesses are stepping away from sponsoring the Seattle fireworks display. Personally, I think we’ve lost focus on what those fireworks were about in the first place.

Most of us have never been to war. We haven’t seen real bombs exploding or experienced the devastating aftermath. So fireworks, to us, are just exciting and pretty and all of that fluff.

I remember when I watched the 1976 fireworks display in Philadelphia. I’d never seen anything like it, before, and probably never will again. However, it wasn’t just the fireworks that touched my heart.

About ten yards away, an elderly man was standing at full attention. With his right hand, he was holding a pole with the American flag. His left hand was held in a salute, as tears streamed down his face. After the fireworks were over, he carefully removed the flag from the pole and folded it up, just as I remembered from Girl Scouts.

I decided to wander over and talk with him. The right side of his face was quite disfigured and his right hand was also missing a couple fingers. It was obvious that he knew what those fireworks were about.

I said that it was obvious how much this meant to him. He searched my face for sincerity, and then said, “It took me 20 years to be able to leave the house on the 4th of July. I used to stay locked up in the house with earplugs. But I wanted to remember my buddies, so I forced myself to come out.”

I don’t remember his name, but I remember him ending our conversation with, “I love this country. God bless America. I’m so glad to be back home. Most of my brothers never made it.”

He finished folding his flag and tucked it in his jacket, over heart, and zipped it up. Before he walked away, he turned back and said, “I hope you know the price that was paid for your freedom. Please don’t ever lose it.”

Ever since then, I haven’t had an interest in fireworks. I guess I didn’t feel that I had a right to. I never saw the real thing. I never paid the price and never experienced the price that was paid by others.

There was a time that families would gather and solemnly sing patriotic songs, as they watched fireworks. It was a time to remember and be grateful. Now, it’s little more than another excuse to flip out the tailgates, tap the kegs and howl at the “light show”.

It could be and should be so much more; when it is, I’ll come back out of the house on the 4th of July, too.