Patches in the Park by Jennifer Picciotto

I walk barefoot in Lake Bluff Park, Port Washington, high over Lake Michigan. It's the 4th of July and the VFW is hosting. There's the beer tent, stuffed to the gills with old folks and no one notices if you sneak a sip from a plastic cup, and there are the troughs of corn grilling in their husks; to get peeled and plunged in liquid gold butter to drip on your toes while you wander through the crowds and the chewy browned kernels taste like heaven. No one has said a word about the American flag stitched on my jean skirt. I'm 16 and sew patches on everything till the original material has disappeared.

"You can't go to the 4th of July with an American Flag stitched on to your ass!" my Dad's disapproval as anticipated as the sticky humidity. "Those vet's will throw you over the bluff into the lake!" he scolds. Sounds like he would like to do that to me himself.

But so far, I'm dry.

(Photo Lake Bluff Park Port Washington Wisconsin courtesy of:
Previously posted at: Thinking Ten:

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