There were parties, celebrations and get-togethers everywhere this past Sunday, Feb. 2, and I am utterly confused about them. America annually goes crazy on February’s first weekend over a day that was minor 47 years ago when, if the occasion was even noticed at all, it passed with relatively little fanfare.
How the United States of America observes its major holidays has changed significantly in the past half-century or so.
When I was growing up, my father, a World War II veteran, proudly displayed our nation’s flag on the side of our house three times each year, on Memorial Day, Flag Day and, of course, on the Fourth of July.
Fewer people display the stars and stripes on those holidays anymore, it seems. Fifty years ago, nearly everyone’s dad had done military service during either World War II or the Korean War, and in most cases his father ”“ or some other close relative(s) ”“ had participated in World War I. Given that a far greater cross-section of the population had played an active role in America’s military endeavors, it only stands to reason that actual love for and/or devotion to America was far more prevalent in those days. Today “patriotism” exists primarily as a term for pandering politicians wishing to suggest their passionate ardor for America is far greater than that of anyone seeking the same elective office he (or she) is.
Two generations ago, Americans celebrated Memorial Day, July 4th and Labor Day amongst family and friends at cookouts where the fare consisted of hamburgers, hot dogs, salad, corn on the cob, watermelon and popsicles. Baseball teams all scheduled doubleheaders on those three holidays; you could watch two games of America’s national pastime for the price of one. Today, Major League Baseball twin-bills occur only when they have been necessitated by a previous rainout, and the Red Sox owners and their corporate brethren charge separate admissions for each game, thank you very much. Another holiday tradition that has disappeared in the past few decades is food-related, sort of. The watermelon seed fights my siblings, my cousins and I used to engage in have gone the way of the Dodo bird. You can’t buy a watermelon with seeds in it anymore. How, I wonder, do we get new little watermelons every year?
Two of the three big winter holidays of my childhood revolved around food as well. Thanksgiving, which then as now was celebrated on November’s fourth Thursday, meant turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, a veritable cornucopia of fresh and cooked vegetables, and apple pie. There was plenty to eat on Christmas, too, although for the kids, cookies and gingerbread generally took precedence over whatever more nutritionally significant offerings were available. Eating wasn’t the primary focus on New Year’s Day, though; college football bowl games or moping about returning to school and/or work the next day was.
Many of America’s holiday traditions have been altered in the past half-century or so. The aforementioned Flag Day, while still falling annually on June 14, passes largely unnoticed each year. Memorial Day is now the last Monday in May; most people don’t remember it used to be every May 30. Washington’s birthday and Lincoln’s birthday have been welded together to form a hybrid “holiday” (President’s Day) which seems more like an excuse for car dealers to run three-day sales events than it does to celebrate the accomplishments of The Father of our Country and The Great Emancipator. Thankfully, Christmas is still celebrated on Dec. 25 each year. Imagine if it too were just another Monday holiday. We’d be inundated with ads starting right after Halloween trumpeting fabulous Savior’s Weekend Bargains at Kay Jewelers, Yankee Ford and Best Buy.
Some relatively recent changes that have occurred in America’s national observances are understandable. There was no Martin Luther King Jr. Day 50 years ago because Dr. King was still alive; President Reagan signed the holiday into law in 1983, though it wasn’t officially observed in all 50 states until 17 years later when the last of the craven Neanderthals resisting it finally realized that flaunting racism and bigotry was no longer politically advantageous.
But what I can’t understand is the fascination with the holiday we just celebrated. I couldn’t even get into the grocery store parking lot on Saturday, and it was even crazier at midday on Sunday. But then when I returned to finally do my shopping Sunday night at about 6:30 p.m., the place was so deserted I wondered for a moment if there had been a nuclear holocaust and no one had told me.
Everyone, it seemed, was at a party on Feb. 2. But why do we get so fired up about an occasion that used to be so insignificant? I mean, since when did Groundhog Day get to be such a big deal?
— Andy Young is an English teacher at a local high school. At the themed party he attended Sunday night (one which, oddly, was rather sparsely-attended) he won the pool by coming closest to guessing exactly what time Punxsutawney Phil would emerge to attempt to see his shadow.
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