A boy looks upon the crisp clear waters of the Atlantic as the morning mist greets his face. The ship pulls up to the creaking pier, waves crash against the poles filling their ears with ocean songs. The boy, only 2, gripping his father, followed by his wife and their three other children. They stepped onto the grounds with heavy hearts for the place they knew, and hope for the one they came to.

My Papa came from overseas to find a better life. He knew, because of people who fought, he would be free. His Family wasn’t born American, but they are just as much American as the people who were born here. My Papa says, “Because we had no freedom we knew what it was like to not have opportunities, to not be free. But when my family traveled here we got to have it all, for that I am eternally grateful.”

Every year since, in the mist of morning on July 4th, the family begins. Red, white, and blue cotton cloths draped across tables. Food prepared weeks in advance finally adorned with final touches. The warm sun and cool air over the endless blue lake as my papa wipes down the pontoon. He looks up with beholden eyes and sighs thinking of the day he arrived. He hangs the grand flag in the front and rests on his rocking chair for just a moment looking up as the morning breeze tousles the flag. He rubs his sore muscles and stands to return to work.

At noon, the cars roll in. Four people to a car, 15 cars at least. The people emerging in their festive clothing carrying platters of food. The smell of Italy fills the air but the surroundings couldn't be more American. The day is filled with appreciation for the people who fought, and the opportunities we received coming to America. At the end of the day my father and I look out upon the crisp clear waters of the lake watching colorful explosions light the night sky.