The charcoal’s been going for an hour and the whole street smells like it. Somebody’s kid is running laps around the yard with a sparkler held out like a sword. There’s a cooler of cold drinks sweating in the grass, a flag snapping on the porch, and a folding table sagging under more potato salad than anyone will ever finish. Then, as the light finally goes, the first big one climbs up over the rooftops two streets over and opens — and the whole backyard tips its head back and goes ooooh.
I love this. All of it. The smoke, the noise, the sticky-fingered kids, the uncle who bought way too many fireworks at the tent off the highway. It is, I think, the most American scene there is.
And here’s what I want to say first, before anything else: enjoy it. Light them loud. Stay up too late. Eat the second burger. Don’t you dare feel guilty about the joy.
The Joy Is the Whole Point
There’s a temptation, every Fourth, to get solemn — to wag a finger and remind everyone that the holiday is Very Serious. I understand the instinct. But I think it gets the day exactly backwards.
A free people, gathered in a backyard on a summer night — safe, happy, careless, laughing at nothing — is not a distraction from what the Fourth means. It is what the Fourth means. That ease is the finished product. That careless joy is the thing that was purchased.
“The cookout isn’t the thing we do instead of honoring the day. The cookout is the day. It’s what freedom looks like when it’s working.”
So no — celebrating hard is not disrespectful. The people I served with didn’t raise their hands so that Americans would spend the Fourth of July feeling guilty. They did it so a street full of strangers could grill out, set off fireworks, and not think twice about any of it. That freedom not to think about it is one of the rarest things on earth. Most people who have ever lived never had it.
Who Bought the Cookout
But take one beat — just one — somewhere between the burgers and the finale.
Because that careless backyard didn’t come for free. The Fourth of July isn’t really about the fireworks, or the sales, or the long weekend. On July 4, 1776, a group of men signed their names to a document that could have gotten them all hanged, declaring that a people had the right to govern themselves. Everything since — every cookout, every sparkler, every ordinary happy evening — has been defended by someone who stood a post so the rest of us wouldn’t have to.
I gave this country twenty-four years. I flew its aircraft and I knew its cost, and I can tell you the bill never arrives the way the movies show it. It looks less like a flag-raising and more like an empty chair at a table, a name on a wall, a family that learned to celebrate around a hole. And tonight, while your street is laughing, there are young men and women standing watch in places you’ll never see — on a flight line, on a ship, on a border — so that your kids can run the yard with sparklers.
“Freedom is the one gift you can only receive secondhand. Somebody always paid for it before you got here.”
That’s not a reason to be sad on the Fourth. It’s a reason to be grateful — which is a much better, much bigger feeling. Gratitude doesn’t dim the party. It deepens it.
What This Means for You
So here’s the whole ask, and it’s an easy one.
Celebrate. Loud and happy and without apology. Grill the food, light the fireworks, let the kids stay up. That joy is not separate from the meaning of the day — it is the meaning of the day, made real in your own backyard.
And then, when the finale lights up the whole sky and everyone goes quiet for a second on their own — let that second be a thank-you. To the signers who risked the noose. To everyone who has worn the uniform since. To the ones standing a post tonight instead of standing in a backyard. This is what you were keeping safe. We’re enjoying every minute of it, exactly like you’d want.
If one of them happens to be at your cookout — a grandfather, a neighbor, a kid just back from a deployment — you don’t need a speech. Just hand them a cold one, look them in the eye, and say thanks. They’ll know what you mean.
Happy Independence Day. Celebrate it like free people. You earned the right to — because someone else earned it first.
Sources & Fact-Check Trail
The Declaration of Independence was adopted on July 4, 1776 — National Archives, Declaration of Independence. The reflections on the cost of service are drawn from the author’s own career as a combat-rated U.S. Air Force officer.
About the Author
Michael Komorous is the host of Voice for Valor, a podcast and newsletter sharing the stories of military veterans, first responders, and their families. A combat-rated Air Force officer, Mike served as a nuclear missile operator, C-17 pilot, and MQ-1 Predator pilot before managing rated personnel across the Air National Guard. His policy career spans legislative affairs, defense acquisitions, and geopolitical strategy at OSD Policy.
Today Mike works at the intersection of national defense, technology, and AI — across three ventures:
- Voice for Valor — the podcast and newsletter you’re reading now, telling the stories behind service and sacrifice.
- DoD Industry Advisor — his defense-advisory practice, helping contractors with pre-solicitation positioning, capture strategy, and market intelligence for the Department of Defense.
- Alpha Zulu Solutions — a service-disabled veteran-owned small business (SDVOSB) delivering defense technology and government-contracting solutions.
He also builds AI systems and is a research professor at George Mason University.
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