Hometown

Usually I think of Ann Arbor as a fairly cosmopolitan place, given its size. We're the home of Borders Books (do NOT take this as an endorsement . . . I'll save my anti-Borders rant for another day . . . but please shop at an independently-owned bookstore if there are any left near you); the classical music scene is world-class; University of Michigan is one of the top-rated state universities in the country; and as if that's not enough, pretty soon we're going to have an Ikea only 20 minutes away.

However, on the Fourth of July, man, we are hick town.

Don't get me wrong: I love our annual parade. We get to see the mayor, state legislators, the drain commissioner, the county prosecutor, the sheriff. Police cars, fire trucks. Preschools. Girl and Boy Scouts. A dixieland band playing "Hold That Tiger." A fife and drum corps dressed in revolutionaryish garb playing "Yankee Doodle."A theatrical stunt group. Local issues: people on bicycles ("We don't block traffic; we are traffic!"), urban planning folks, peace activists. And the one that reduces me to a puddle of sentimental tears every year: Mothers of Multiples, with their double (or triple) strollers and identical toddlers in matching red-white-and-blue outfits.

They wave at us and throw candy; we wave and clap and scramble for the candy, and everyone's happy. Steve even waved at the Washtenaw County Republicans. "What are you doing?" I hissed. "Honey, this is America," he said. "But notice, I'm not clapping."