Independence Day and I have a complicated relationship. I have fond memories from my childhood—packing a picnic and going to an all-day festival with my family. We’d lay our blanket on the grassy hillside and wait until nightfall. A military band always played inspiring marches, and when night fell, the sky was filled with every color in the rainbow and all sorts of sounds: booms, crackles, and whistles all overlapping each other into a symphony. But even then, as a child, I knew why we celebrated with fireworks. I knew the noise was meant to emulate the sounds of war. I imagined myself, as a young girl, hiding in a barn, keeping my breathing quiet lest the soldiers find me.

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