Do you think arriving at 9 p.m. for fireworks that begin at 9:25 would be early enough? If you do, then the New York Police Department would like to have a word with you.
We could have guaranteed ourselves seats for the show. Wealthy New Yorkers bought tickets to private parties or pretended to be friends with someone with a rooftop view. We could have watched the fireworks from the observatory deck of the Empire State Building for $550 each — and that would have included hors d’oeuvres — but Carol wouldn’t go for it.
We forced our way on to a No. 2 train packed with people in red, white and blue hats, glasses and “Suck It, England” T-shirts. We were headed to the intersection of Washington and 11th Street, an entrance two blocks from the Hudson River. From there we would walk to the banks of the river and watch the Macy’s Fourth of July Fireworks.
Brett and Carol Younger
The multilingual crowd got off at 14th Street and shuffled westward. When we arrived at the aforementioned intersection, the police informed us all the streets leading to the river had just been closed, so none of us punctual, but not ridiculously early, fans of combustible chemicals were going to have an unencumbered view.
We wandered around dazed and disappointed, then started looking for a piece of open sky. The Meat Packing District now has more hipsters than butchers, but a hundred of us found what might be the last meat packing loading zone in Manhattan.
Imagine a courtyard with concrete, trucks and a faint smell you don’t want to identify. Carol and I found cardboard boxes to sit on and a cozy spot next to the dumpster. Only a two-story building stood between us and the show. We had 15 minutes to wait before we could see if our angle would make it possible to see much of anything, but people kept coming into our loading zone.
One guy whose mother was not there climbed a delivery truck as though it was a set of stairs, lifted himself up on to some scaffolding and scrambled to the roof of the building. We cheered for Spiderman and a few gymnasts who joined him.
When Macy’s 60,000 shells in 30 different colors started exploding, we saw the top half of them. We could see enough to know it was amazing. We did not have the best seats, but it was awesome. As former Gospel artist Katy Perry sings, “The boom, boom, boom was brighter than the moon, moon, moon.”
The ninth century Chinese who invented fireworks by putting gunpowder in bamboo would have been so impressed.
With the sky blushing at each rocket’s explosion, the crowd oohed and aahed. Our eyes widened. Our jaws dropped. The crowd became part of the show. We clapped for children who jumped up and down. We applauded a girl who danced with sparklers.
“We bonded over not having the best seats in the house.”
We shared our cardboard boxes. We made room for a grandfather in a wheelchair. We offered opinions, “Those pigeons must be so confused.” We were happy to be there. We did not complain about the thousands who had better views. We bonded over not having the best seats in the house.
We celebrated because we realized we can stop fighting for a better view long enough to see the glory that fills the sky. The happiest spots aren’t usually the most expensive spots.
Christians are supposed to understand that we don’t need the best seats in the house.
Sometimes the cheap seats are the best seats.
Sometimes the lower-paying job is the better job.
Sometimes being a kindergarten teacher is better than being a university president.
Sometimes a McFlurry tastes better than tiramisu.
Sometimes tennis shoes are more fun than dress shoes.
Sometimes walking in the park is better than running a marathon.
Sometimes a conversation with a homeless person is better than arguing politics at a cocktail party.
Sometimes a middle school play is more entertaining than a Broadway musical.
Sometimes public transit is more interesting than a limousine.
Sometimes the back-up singers have better lives.
Sometimes recognizing that you have enough is better than wanting more.
Katy Perry was so right:
You just gotta ignite the light
And let it shine
Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July
‘Cause baby, you’re a firework.
Brett Younger serves as senior minister at the historic Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, N.Y.