The July 4th Effect

The sight and smell of gunpowder smoke in the air… The constant cracking and popping… The loud booms… all coming from all directions…  Overwhelming… 

For the first time in my post-military service life, the July 4th fireworks bothered me.  

Yesterday, as I played doubles with my friends under the twilight and eventual nighttime sky… as I struggled to focus on playing the points, all while trying to steel my nerves, I constantly had to remind myself that I was neither on a military installation, nor deployed to a combat zone.

Though tired from having been on the tennis court for what was by then, some three hours (and to top that off, feet hurting from wearing tennis shoes that seemed to have lost their insole & heel support during that same session), I steadied myself as best I could, setting my focus on playing with a renewed energy and will to finish off my opponents, so that I could remove myself from the outside, and into the safety and comfort of my home, which I knew would allow me a bit more sound cushioning, and total relief from the smell of spent fireworks.

Perhaps it was the training I had received during boot camp—some 28 years before—that taught us to focus in the midst of chaos.  Maybe it was my natural, stubborn resoluteness; perhaps some combination of the two, but I sharpened my game just enough to fight through the inner struggle that I fought hard to mask from friends (though I did mention how much the fireworks sounded so similar to “the real thing,” – a calculated decision I made in an attempt to help release some of the steam that had steadily, and increasingly built up with the growing cacophony of the holiday celebration).

After going up 5–3 on my serve and being unable to break our opponents for the victory, with the score at 5–4, my partner and I found ourselves down 15–40, while serving to close out the match.  Wanting so desperately to get the heck out of there, but unwilling to succumb to the noise and just quit… and wanting to neither lose, nor play another game when the finish line was so close, I turned to my partner, winked at her, and said, “Come on T; give me two of those Pete Sampras serves!”  She obliged, delivering not just two, but three, consecutive, unreturnable serves to get us to match point.  Her final serve set up a weak return, for which I was able to hit a volley-winner into the open court, thus putting the match on ice.

Though eager to leave, I kept it cool, slowly gathered my things, and made it a point to be the last person off the court.  A short while later, I was finally home: tired, soaking wet from playing over three hours in temperatures that were in the 90s when I began (with humidity at 51% – according to the fitness activity tracker on my phone), and oddly, feeling rattled.  My wife asked how the tennis was, and looking at me, could tell that I “had something on my mind.”  I confessed that for some strange reason, the din and smell of the fireworks had gotten to me.  I couldn’t figure out why though.  My Active Duty service has ended a quarter-century before and yet, I had never had that sort of (nervous) response to fireworks.  I honestly haven’t been the biggest fan of them since my service ended, but last night was very different… something new.  Oh well… I showered, ate dinner, and eventually settled down.

I woke up today feeling “okay,” though still perplexed as to why last night had affected me in the way that it did (and after all those years).  

While this post is not normally the type of thing I would dare share with the public (call it foolishly stoic masculine pride if you must), I felt the need to write this today, and for two reasons:

First, as any writer might attest, writing somehow has a built-in therapeutic value.  It is a means of “releasing” in ways that I have not experienced via any other vehicle.

Secondly, I felt it my duty to write about last night’s experience, to hopefully serve as a guide stick for any veteran after me, who may one day go through what I felt last night.  I wanted to say, “You are okay, friend.  Do not consider yourself as ‘not normal.’  This too shall pass; focus on getting through it.  You are strong and you’ll get through it; you will, SOLDIER (or Marine, sailor, or airman).  That is a lawful order, SO DO IT!  Make your peace with whatever brought up that feeling or emotion, then carry on!”

Look, I refuse to believe that I am the only veteran who’s ever experienced what I felt last night; yet I have never read a similar account by someone so many years removed from service.  I share this experience with the hope that it serves as a beacon that will help guide that veteran back to calm… to let them know within themselves, “I am okay.”

Finally, to you, the reader who may have never worn the uniform, this may all seem trivial.  During my time on Active Duty, I served as a medic attached to a mechanized infantry unit; and while I never saw the type of action that many of today’s soldiers and veterans have experienced, I too spent a tour of duty deployed to an area of the world that at that time was considered hostile; and trained year-round to be prepared to do my job, should duty call. 

I say all that to say that if last night’s fireworks had that profound an effect on a veteran who never saw a single minute of combat, I can only imagine how those city-wide fireworks pop-offs around the country (and I’m talking the random ones—not the officially-sponsored shows) might affect my fellow veterans who actually served while under fire.

In closing, is there an end that I am seeking in the writing of this article?  Not particularly—nothing more than a hope to give comfort to other vets who don’t like fireworks (and may not be able to pinpoint exactly why).  My other aim was to raise awareness on how those July 4th sounds and smells might affect us. 

Please, by all means… go on celebrating Independence Day as you so choose; it’s one of those freedoms that those who wear the uniform serve to protect.  Just please be aware that the sounds and smells of the occasion affect different people differently (and to end this article on a positive note, the only July 4th smoke I like is the kind that is associated with soaked wood chips and charcoal, smoldering underneath a spread of expertly-seasoned meat, fish or veggies, sitting on a grill rack or inside a smoker!).

God Bless

–MT

(For permission to reprint this article, email your request to talfordarts@gmail.com)

Matt D. Talford is a freelance journalist and the author of “From Fear to Faith: A Survivor’s Story”  – a memoir about overcoming a rare form of what he calls “the C-word.”  The book is currently available in paperback on this website [click the “Products” link at the top of the web page, or in the menu if you’re on a mobile device] and at Amazon.com.  It is also available in eBook format on Amazon Kindle and Apple iBooks.  Audiobook version—narrated by Talford with his signature warm, baritone vocals—will go on Summer, 2018.