Last night, the Fourth of July, our daughters, my wife and I were playing cards at the kitchen table when fireworks began sounding in earnest. They had been going off occasionally all day, but as evening came down, regular volleys of minor explosions and whistling rockets sounded across the city. We went outside but couldn't see much. We live amidst drumlins, ice age deposits, and tall trees. The fireworks were being shot from neighborhoods on the other side.

Let's go see, I said.

We scrunched into the front of Dad's '72 Chevy pickup. The girls scanned the sky, pointing at each new explosion, their heads turning and turning. I watched the road, my arm dangling out the window, the truck rolling slowly, my mind at ease, content, happy.

We ended up on the northeast side of town. I pulled into the lot the Syracuse Northeast Community Center shares with Dr. Weeks school. My wife and I climbed out and stood beside the truck, our older daughter climbed into the truck bed for better views, and our younger daughter kept to the safety of the cab. Fireworks soared into the sky from all four directions, asynchronous, un-choreographed, a jazz improvisation of bright explosions and color.

It was all just right for us. We had gone out on a whim, searched out what we wanted, and relaxed into the wonder of it all. We were parked in the lot of my new job, a place that brings me unbelievable joy and challenge, that has made our family life better. I'm no longer miserable, counting days until I can retire, dreading each new day of school. Parked there, I felt ownership and responsibility to my family and the community. Around us, over our heads, the night erupted in celebration.

This year's Fourth Of July was full of challenges. The white supremacist in the White House and his cowardly enablers on the right believe Independence Day represents going it alone and being above others. They're dead wrong.

Last night, in the parking lot on Syracuse's northeast side, we celebrated our interdependence and love, the challenges and excitement of serving our neighbors, and the memory of Dad embodied in that old truck. When the fireworks wound down, we climbed into the truck, sitting tightly together on one shared seat, and drove back to the home we share. We watched colored sparks soar into the air at random across our city, celebrating all we mean to one another and all we are to become together. Happy Interdependence Day, everyone.