Old Navy makes a killing in Iowa City

Back when Amy and I were too young to celebrate our independence in Washington DC my mother used to drive us to her dad’s house in Warsaw, New York.

Warsaw in all her glory:


Warsaw would host an annual Fourth of July parade and carnival. The carnival (as I remember it) consisted entirely of mud and cotton candy. And a pony ride. And I loved it.

This was the first Fourth since the Warsaw days that I haven’t celebrated at home in Virginia or sitting across the river from the National Mall. Instead I took my visiting mom and dad across the Iowa River to Coralville, the closest thing to Iowa City with a mall and home to the Coralville Fourth of July Fair and Fireworks display.

At the fairgrounds Miss Iowa was sitting at a little wooded table at the end of a line of about thirty little girls twirling batons and clamoring for autographs. Some of them matched in black and white leotards, there was one Pocahontas, countless cowgirls, and just enough red white and blue fringe to keep the whole place celebrating. Beyond that there were only about ten food vendors and as many b-list carnival rides (read: no farris wheel OR carousel). The only truly inspiring ride was a kiddy coaster titled Desert Storm. I got to watch a tiny little girl ride around in a bumpy circle, a gun in each hand and a tank underneath her, squealing between her redwhiteandblue streamered pigtails.

It was like this:
!!!!!

That night we decided to simply open the curtains and watch the Iowa City fireworks display at a sharp angle out my parents hotel window.