The earliest memories I have of the 4th are from growing up in Westwood, MA, and watching fireworks from our house. We lived near a lake that was large enough to serve as the town’s fireworks launching pad. In our house, the upstairs attic had been converted into a master bedroom with a triangular shape, the floor being the bottom of the triangle and the walls meeting in a point. You get the idea. One of the angled walls had sky lights which could be opened. Each 4th of July, we would get stools or ladders and open the windows and peer out into the sky, watching the fireworks over the lake as we leaned on the roof of our house. This is how I celebrated my first Independence Days. It wasn’t as likely to happen on New Years because snow would be covering the roof, so I think we watched the ball drop in New York on TV.

But half of my child was spent in the nearby town of Needham, MA, and during the humid day I can remember watching 4th of July parades down the towns main drag. Firetrucks, marching bands, shriners, those little white party popper things, and of course the candy being tossed from the various parade members. One year we skipped peering out from our roof in Westwood to watch fireworks somewhere near City Hall in Needham. It probably wasn’t that big of a celebration, but as a small kid I thought it was a huge event. I can remember just feeling like a tiny spot in a giant crowd, but my clearest memory is of those loopy glow-in-the-dark bands they sold which could be worn in any of a number of ways.

I don’t remember if I cared enough to ask for one, but I do know that my brother did. And it should also be noted that my brother was notorious for sticking things in his mouth in his youth (there’s a whole other story along those lines worth telling). Well you can guess what happened next. Driving home from the fireworks, my brother chewed through one of the glowing bands, and the thing leaked not only all over the backseat of my dad’s car, but into my brother’s mouth as well. Minor emergency. My dad had a small freakout, not knowing whether the glowing liquid in the bands was toxic or not. He was probably less than thrilled that the stuff also wound up on the interior of his car.

During this period we also would take the occasional summer trip to Maine where family friends of ours owned a cottage on a lake. We were there for at least one 4th, because there’s photographic evidence. But I also vaguely remember it too. The memory I have from Maine is lighting sparklers down by the lake and holding them as far away from my body as possible to avoid burns. This memory came rushing back to me not long ago at a friend’s wedding where everyone held sparklers to send the happy couple off on their honeymoon. I think those may be the only two times I’ve held a sparkler.

Also during this early time of my life (before the age of ten), we would spend some summers by a lake in New Hampshire. I don’t remember if there were fireworks there on the lake or not. Probably just random people setting stuff off. But I do have several summer memories there. It was always the time of year when Wimbledon and the baseball All-Star game were on TV, and I know we watched the Boston 4th of July celebration with the Boston Pops there as well. A lot of times when I think back on the 4th of July, I just think of summers on the lake in New Hampshire.

In ’95 I moved across the country to Arizona, but still my memories stayed on the east coast. During summer break I normally went back east to see my dad, who eventually moved from Boston down to the Washington, D.C., area. I have a pair of DC 4th memories from this time. One hot and humid summer, we managed to perch ourselves on the steps of the US Capitol building for the giant celebration that took place there. There was a big concert on the mall infront of the Capitol, and I’m pretty sure Kenny G played. But more memorable than that was how exhaustingly hot it was and how magnificent the fireworks appeared as we looked down the National Mall passed the Washington Monument down to the Lincoln Memorial. The other DC 4th memory was a bit different. We went down to the mall again, but this time it wasn’t hot, it was pouring rain. We took the Metro into the city and we were able to camp in the rain at the foot of the Washington Monument. It eventually cleared up and we had a fairly decent spot for watching fireworks over the mall.

As I progressed through high school, summer activities made it harder for me to go back east, so I began making a few 4th of July memories in Arizona. I was part of a drum and bugle corps which marched in a few parades, which I can only remember as being way too hot and painfully long. But despite that, it was fun march in a parade dedicated to our country, and to play the various military anthems for the spectators. The parades were usually the last thing we did in a town called Eagar (more recently known as the epicenter of record-setting Arizona wildfires) where we went to “escape the heat” of the Phoenix area. One year after the Eagar parade we high-tailed it back to Phoenix and I was able to go to the large fireworks and concert celebration at the lake in Tempe. It’s the only time during my tenure in Phoenix that I ever watched those fireworks live, and it was fun. Parking was not.

For the sake of inclusion, I have a vague memory involving fireworks, a back yard, a giant trampoline and my friends Anthony and Laura. That may have been a New Years thing, however.

A few years ago, after my drum corps days were over, I went back out to the east coast to spend a week on the Delaware beach. I flew out on the 4th, actually, and after landing I hopped in a car with my sister and we caught a minor league baseball game in rural Virginia. That was a lot of fun, and the week in Delaware was great too. We’ve spent a few of those weeks in Lewes and Rohoboth over the years, and they’ve become the more modern incarnation of the beach house in New Hampshire.

The year after I stayed in Phoenix for the 4th because I was working through the summer as part of my grad school studies. It was another memorable 4th, however, as my grad school friends and I had our pick of the litter of fireworks displays as we scaled a closet shelf through an attic opening to reach the roof of my friend’s flat. We hung out on top of the roof for an hour or so, drinking, listening to music, watching fireworks, and – oh yeah – lighting sparklers. So it’s three times, I guess.

That brings us to this summer. I thought it might be hard to celebrate America’s birthday from abroad while living in Amsterdam, but things worked out okay. A friend of mine from Arizona decided to take a spontaneous trip to Europe. She was in Paris to start, and so we met up in Brussels the day before the 4th. My European July 4th consisted to seeing the sights of Brussels and enjoying Belgian beer and waffles.

Beer and waffles? What’s more American than that?

I have one already, as seen in this photo, but I’ve wanted to get another of my family crest for some time.

My family crest, that of Clan Cameron, looks like the picture on the left. It’s a bundle of arrows representing the merging of several sects that created the clan, with the phrase “Aonaibh Ri Cheile” (pronounced YOO-nyve ree KAY-la) which is Gaelic for “Let us unite,” the clan motto and battle cry.

I’ve been working on my own design (seen on the right) that places the badge over the family coat of arms with a banner below with “CAMERON” written across it.

I really want this tattoo. I’ll get it someday. But what’s crazy is this…

The picture above on the left is a tattoo drawn by an artist at a parlor called Bizarre Ink located in Edinburgh, Scotland. It just so happens I’m going to Edinburgh tomorrow.

The kind of work my tattoo would require would take too much time than I have to give in my brief stay, but I believe I’ve been inspired to make this the place I get my tattoo. Some day. Because not only is this a true Scottish parlor, and not only has it tattoo’d my family’s crest before – it’s also just happens to be literally a stones throw from the hostel I’m staying at Friday night.

That’s some crazy aligning of stars shit right there. I just happen to research tattoos, and happen to find a great example, it happens to be in the city, nay the same street I’m staying on this weekend. Absolutely crazy.

It would be awesome if I could hop in there and get a tattoo at the drop of a hat, but this kind of thing takes a little planning for me. I need to perfect the design before I commit to the ink, but one day I’ll do it.

I feel like I should at least stop in there and see the shop, ask about pricing and see how hard it is to get an appointment. Maybe even show them my design.

Before I eventually leave Europe I need to plan a trip back to Edinburgh to get this tattoo. I need to make it happen, and by golly, it will be at this shop in Scotland! How badass would that be?

What a story.

The film follows several children in the American public school system – some poorer than others – as they attempt to enroll in special charter schools. These schools are forced to hold lottery drawings for applicants because they are so coveted.

Of course the greater picture being painted by these stories is the crumbling state of public education in America. Overcrowded and underfunded schools are quite literally falling apart, but it seems these aren’t the biggest obstacles to school reform according to the film’s director, Davis Guggenheim.

Though he is careful not to vilify America’s teachers for their efforts in the classroom, Guggenheim does point out several times throughout the film that teacher’s unions and their beloved contracts have been a hindrance to education.

The most obvious “smoking gun” I find my self taking away from viewing this film is the idea of tenure among educators. Teachers unions have negotiated contacts that forbid school boards from firing teachers (except in extreme cases of misconduct) after they have tenure – an “achievement” that automatically kicks in after a certain number of years on the job.

As the film shows, this breeds a culture where teachers have been found kicking back and reading the paper (wait people still read the paper?) instead of teaching. These contracts hold back education reform like merit-based pay. The Washington D.C. superintendent attempted to compromise with the unions, offering teachers a choice of tenure or the chance of merit-based pay raises as high as three times the average salary. The proposal wasn’t even allowed to come to a vote.

Guggenheim doesn’t hang ‘em high because not every tenured teacher behaves this way, and merit-based pay alone won’t solve the education problem. That was probably the right decision. On the other hand, I remember one of my best teachers in high-school was tenured. His students loved his English class because he wasn’t afraid (thanks to his tenure) to teach in a bit of an unconventional way.

Thought it’s sad to admit, I usually find myself reminded of how lucky I am when watching documentaries like “Waiting for Superman”. The entire time I was reminded of how lucky I was to have the educational opportunities that I did.

Here I am sitting in my apartment that I pay for with the money I make at my full time job – in Europe, no less – which I was hired for after earning a graduate degree, after attending undergraduate school free of charge thanks to an academic tuition waiver, after attending a high-school my mother hand picked for my brother and I, all after being allowed to enroll at the private school my mother worked at for free for middle school.

That was probably the luckiest moment in my educational development – having the choice to attend private school for three years.

I switched schools a bit before then because we had moved twice in 2 years. 3rd, 4th, 5th and the beginning of 6th grade were all different schools for me. In those first few weeks of 6th grade something clicked in my head. I had a lot of young teachers with shiny new teacher’s certificates and I felt like I was suddenly in classes way below my learning and skill level.

I told my mom about the rampant numbskullery in my classes and the apparent unwillingness of the teachers to do anything about it. The dean of the private school she worked at subsequently did me the greatest favor of my life and allowed me attend for virtually nothing.

I went from having hundreds of kids in my grade to having just 60 at the private school. Class sizes dropped from 30-plus to under 10 in most cases. The teachers were experienced (most of them, anyway) and genuinely cared about our success as students. It didn’t hurt that they could always tip my mother off to my progress in the faculty lounge, but the ratio of kids to teachers was such that the teachers had positive individual relationships with each of their students.

I can remember at least a dozen teachers I studied under by name during those years because they left a lasting impression on me. My guess is the average person doesn’t have that many memories of their junior high teachers.

I was incredibly lucky. If not for those three years in private school, I may not be where I am today. The problem is, it shouldn’t take incredible luck to be a successful student in America.

I thought, as I finally decided to go to sleep at 1am, that I would regret waiting that long because it would be hard to get up and get moving at 8:30.  I even set two alarms, as to avoid the wrath of my golf starved father.  Little did I know I would be watching the sun rise at six in the morning.

So now I find myself typing away at my computer by the morning light, attempting to wear my brain out and send it back to sleep.  Although, maybe I should stay awake, and avoid the “bad” dream I was having before I woke up.  And by “bad” I mean that I was having a dream in which I went to buy my new iPhone on Friday only to find that I was too late and they were sold out.  Oh the humanity…

It’s already Thursday.  Not fair.  I wish my vacation could last forever and that I didn’t have to go back to work on Monday.  Why is it that time goes so slow when you’re at work, and then I go on vacation and it’s at hyperspeed?  Yeah, yeah… time flies when you’re having fun, I know.

Two positives will arise from the end of my vacation (well, three actually).  Firstly, I will stop spending money (I hope) on clothes from outlet malls.  I’ve bought way too much – so much, in fact, that I will most likely have to stow some of it away in my golf bag (which I am checking on the plane to bring my clubs home for the first time in a long time).  Though my Dad provided me with what he calls “walking around money”, I have bought two pairs of jeans, four pairs of shorts, five shirts, and a pair of shoes.  Dad also just bought me a pair of golf shoes, my first pair ever.  “Anything to support golf in youth”, he says.

Second positive: I will start making money again, by going back to work.  Though some of my vacation days were paid vacation (the benefits of working for FedEx), I will definitely welcome the earning of funds.  I’ve spent a lot this summer, and have more things I need to spend money on, plus I’m moving out in less than a month.  I await the student loan check I will receive in about 40 days… that will be nice.

Third positive: girlfriend.  After having broken up for roughly two months, we reunited about two weeks ago.  This week apart was to be the ultimate test of how we really feel about each other.  I could spend a week away and clear my head and figure out what exactly was goin on.  Truth is, I’ve missed her like crazy, and she me.  We’ve talked, texted, chatted, emailed, Facebook walled, every form of modern communication possible these days (sadly).

So while I’m dreading a return to the nine to five eight to three life that I live aside from vacation, I know returning home will be a good thing also.  As for the iPhone, those jerks better not sell out, cause it’s tax free in Delaware!  I’m not going to camp out, but I will probably get up around 7am to go get one when doors open at 8.  If not, I’ll get one in AZ when I get home.

Okay, dilemma.  It’s 6:45.  Stay up or go back to sleep?  I have an alarm set for 8:30, so I’m looking at less than two more hours.  I think I shall climb back into bed, but good luck getting to sleep.  I should get as much rest as possible.  Busy day.  Golf, then jet skiing, then beach.  At least I could sleep at the beach if I wanted to.  Or maybe I’ll stay up until my Dad wakes up and then we could leave early… hmm…

Either way, I’m done here.

High pitched squealing woke everyone up around 5:30, but most of us ignored it as it shut off a few moments later.  Dad wasn’t so easily comforted.  He walked around, made sure everyone was “okay”, and then the things went off again, and repeated their on and off screaming for several minutes.  The volume of the detectors is not what makes them annoying to hear, it’s the fact that each one in the house does not sing the same pitch, and the resulting dissonance causes the ear drums to pulsate in strange ways, creating a “whirring” sound in the ear.  I would have put in ear plugs, but soon enough, we were told to get up and get outside.

Apparently the smoke detectors also can detect carbon monoxide, so Dad called the fire department to have them come check it out.  As we stood outside, in a light drizzle of rain, two fire trucks, and ambulance, and two other fire vehicles came swooping into our little cul-de-sac (side note: cul-de-sac is French for “bottom of the bag” because a cul-de-sac looks like a bag… learn something new everyday…).  Thankfully saving us from any further embarassment, their sirens were off, but the lights were on.

Anyway, long story short – false alarm.  The firemen went through the house with some high-tech gadgetry and discerned that there was no danger, just faulty circuits.  So we went back to sleep.

We all didn’t get going on the rest of our day until around noon when we headed to the beach.  From 12-2 it was partly cloudy, partly sunny.  We threw the frisbee around, both by land and by sea,

then read some books and magazines for a while.  After downing some soda and gorging on snacks, we left the beach as wind and rain set in on the beach.  We got back to the house a little after two.  Jeff and I played some more Guitar Hero (he on medium bass, I on expert guitar), then he and Hannah left after dinner.

It was another chill day – that is except for the fire alarm adventure.  Dad wound up tearing out the circuit to the alarms from the circuit breaker, which was probably illegal.  Hope no real fires occur.  Now that Jeff and Hannah are gone, Jordan is switching to their room so now I have my own to room do with what I please.

Dad and I are planning to go golfing tomorrow, weather permitting.  Until then, stay classy, and watch out for carbon monoxide poisoning.

It has been about four years since I started blogging.  I began my undergraduate level education with my first blog, entitled “Random Thoughts” which quickly became “Such Is Life” then eventually “chcameron”, which is the name I use for pretty much everything I do online.  I thought it apropos, as I begin my graduate studies in journalism, to create a new blog for a fresh start.

So here we are, as I type away at my first new blog entry on my new site at approximately 3am eastern time.  Normally I reside in Arizona, and in the fall I begin my graduate work at Arizona State, but as for now I’m spending the week soakin’ up rays on the beaches of Lewes, Delaware.  I flew into Baltimore yesterday and spent the night at my brother’s house in Virginia before driving the 3 hours to the Delaware coast.

I am certain the free time that comes with vacation will allow for me to write more later, but as for now I should really turn off my laptop and get to sleep.  Who knows what my family has planned for tomorrow.