Love and Lallersloos

 

For I will pour water upon him that is thirsty,

and floods upon the dry ground:

I will pour my spirit upon thy seed,

and my blessing upon thine offspring.

                                                — Isaiah 44:3

 

Every Fourth of July when I was young, a whole bunch of families would get together and have a big breakfast. The moms had all been in the same sorority together, and everybody looked forward to a get-together once a year.

 

The host family would scrub the garage, set up card tables, and put up streamers and flags. They'd mow the lawn within an inch of its life. They'd dig out the croquet set, put up the volleyball net, set out the sprinklers to be run through, and brace themselves.

 

The rest of us would haul in eggs and bacon, sausage and pancake batter, orange juice and extra lawn chairs, plus cap pistols, water weenies, squirt guns, Slip 'n' Slides and those colored pellets you'd throw on the driveway and they'd go "pop."

 

I loved the Fourth of July. I loved the bright colors and bold flags, the music and the banners. Most of all, I loved the spirit of joy and friendship among all ages.

 

How blessed we are to live in freedom, able to do the important things in life . . . like maintaining longtime friendships in peace and happiness, and blessing our friends' children.

 

I loved it at those breakfasts when my parents' friends would know what school I went to and what sports I did. They would ask me about my freckles, chuck my chubby double chin and say, "My, how you've grown since last year."

 

I soaked it up like a Nebraska cornfield in a July thunderstorm. Kids need encouragement so much, to be known and appreciated.

 

My dad had his own way of doing that. He made home movies of all of us kids at those breakfasts. He called himself "Cecil B. deMille," with typical goofiness pronouncing it "CEE-cil."

 

He would line us up by height. I was always next to a skinny boy in a great, big baseball cap.

 

We would have to walk across the yard, turn, and stand in line for Dad to pan the camera. It made us all feel special. One kid, a big ham, would always throw a croquet mallet in his path first, and then "accidentally" trip on it to get more "screen time." He grew up to be an attorney, naturally.

 

One year, I was in my powder-blue eyeglasses and wide headband, making funny faces for the camera, when the skinny boy in the great, big baseball cap next to me frowned, turned his head the other way, and blew out air:

 

"Girls! Bleah!"

 

Another year, a little, bitty girl with curly red hair confronted my dad, pointed to her feet and demanded, "Lookit my lallersloos."

 

"Lallersloos"?

 

He looked down. Her brand-new sneakers were bright yellow.

 

Ohhh. "Yellow shoes."

 

Dad made her grin by raving about them, and featuring them on that year's movie.

 

For years later, at those breakfasts, he would rave about her "lallersloos." She loved it.

 

When she became a bride, Mom found the perfect wedding gift: a figurine with a little girl . . . in yellow shoes. Dad wrote a tender note to go with it. It made everybody cry.

 

Dad has been dead for some years now. But the grown-up Lallersloos still talks about those Fourth of July breakfasts, the figurine and Dad's note. He connected with her, decades ago, and it blesses her still.

 

We watch those old movies from time to time, knowing we were loved, seeing each other grow up all over again.

 

There's Lallersloos.

 

There are my brothers, with big grins and happenin' buzz cuts.

 

There's Lisa, who grew up to be such a beauty.

 

There's my sister, ever stylish in red, white and blue.

 

There's that skinny boy in the great, big baseball cap.

 

I've been married to him for over 25 years now.

 

Told you those Fourth of July breakfasts served up something special. †