Today is my birthday. It is also the day we in the United States celebrate Independence Day, marking the end of British rule in the colonies. We hope none of our friends in the U.K. hold that against us. We're happy to remain friends. When I was a kid, I naturally thought all the hullabaloo - parades, fireworks, picnics, excitement - was meant to celebrate me. Imagine my disappointment when I found out it wasn't. My sister, however, was delighted. She had always resented the fact that my birthday had parades and hers didn't. It was one of those classic "nana, nana, nana," moments between siblings.  The year I found out the horrible truth was the year it became my turn to refuse to come out from under the bed and go to the corner for the parade. Still, this holiday always stirs my patriotic spirit. I love the parades and the fireworks, and the general air of excitement and fun that surrounds us as we picnic. I've been known to spend the entire day singing ...

Crash! Bang! Kerpow! Either it's the Fourth of July again, or all the aerosol cans in my garage are exploding. The Fourth of July brings a multitude of fond memories to me, not only in a patriotic sense, but also because it happens to be my birthday as well. Even having to bear with such comments as, "You must be a real firecracker," I'm glad I share my day with such a prestigious holiday. At least I'm not easily forgotten. A birthday on January sixteenth can• slip by unnoticed, but who can forget the Fourth of July? (Besides my mother's maiden aunt who also forgets to send me Christmas cards). When I was a kid, I naturally assumed that all the fanfare from parades to fireworks was all done in my honor, and it was a big shock to me at about age eight to realize that 15 of us were celebrating my birthday and the rest of the world could care less. My sister, likewise, thought all the hullabaloo was in my honor and it really bugged her. After all, on her birthday...