The temperature Sunday was not particularly hot that Fourth of July a few years ago, but looking back it was the heat that pressed itself upon me the most. The true heat was more than the temperature. The true heat that I felt was from the long, running, out of breath chasing that the cops gave my friends and me.
             First, the day was like any other Independence Day in its celebration. The barbecue was on the grill, the family was on the deck, and the good feelings were flowing lively. I chatted with the family awhile, put in the effort spending time at the kiddies' table, and began to feel the joy of the holiday. It was clear and calm that day, with still no sign of the police, but bad things were yet to come, and then it unexpectedly happened with a smile. An old uncle, rarely seen except for those few occasions when public drinking with friends is acceptable, brought out a bag of things that no self-respecting Fourth of July party-goers is without, the fireworks. Pretty soon the kids and even a few adults were enjoying the awesome show.
             Later that evening, as all kids do at some point on the Fourth, my friends and I left the festivities to find some fun. We were not being particularly destructive, yet there was a hint of sugar in our body. Walking through the neighborhood, we would shoot rockets at passers-by, houses, and even each other. This half-weird fun continued for several hours until darkness fell completely deep. While we waited, tensely not knowing what we were waiting for, very tense and dramatic about it. Then the unexpected happened, and when it did, it did so with a sound of a huge firecracker.
             Finally, the four of us were sitting on the porch at a friend's house, in his yard, wherever we could find a seat, when a cop pulled up to the drive. Now, anyone who has been a teenager understands the need to rebel, but there also exists an inherent need to obey in the face of armed authority. My
             ...