Daniel LaPointe

Choice:

  • Stay in Boston for the big hurrah, presumably quite awesome this year due to the large divisor of 1000

  • Put up with a combined seven hours of miserable Greyhound transit and another hour’s worth of driving in a crappy car with no air conditioning to attend the family event in Upstate New York that I have never, to my recollection, missed

That there was even a choice here is a testament to the sway raw loyalty will have over a person. Quite notably, this loyalty resulted in what I can only call a “compelled action.” The last time I experienced such a thing involved my fellow contributor James in an intimate way.

But more on that later. Now, the compelled action of 7/4/26.

The family event – a picnic at one relative’s house followed by a fireworks bonanza at another relative’s house – collectively spans from 1:00 PM to about 9:30 PM (the conclusion of the fireworks) every year. At around 1:20 PM on July 4th I had, in what felt like a completely unintentional act, set out to South Station via the Red Line in an effort to catch a 1:55 PM bus to Albany:

As this hypothetical bus ride would have been an extremely impulsive thing and would have made me miss the picnic portion of the event entirely, the thought had been to schedule a ~30-minute Lyft straight from the bus station to the fireworks location. So here I was looking at about 5.5 hours of transit, one way, and something like $110 to… hang out with some cousins and second cousins for about two hours and watch them shoot off some fireworks.

Now, one could argue that if I really wanted to go to the event, I would have scheduled a bus ride well in advance that would have allowed me to attend the entire thing. My response to that objection… is that it is entirely correct. Indeed, it was never my well-rested, full-context-considering plan to attend the family event; the bus-Lyft scheme I’ve described above was plainly irrational.

But that’s not how raw loyalty works. The thing you gotta understand here is that when a bunch of rednecks (and their less rednecky cousins) come out of the woodwork to attend the 4th every year, they mean business. There’s something mechanical about it. Something inevitable.

So as the reader can infer from some of my language in the above paragraphs, I never actually went on that Greyhound. But I did feel that pull – that overwhelming sensation that I needed to be at the event – and that pull was what got me off my ass and compelled me to make it as far as South Station. It was only at that point – i.e., upon reaching South Station – that I recognized I was going to need some food in my stomach before four hours and 45 minutes on a bus. The time stamp on the photo below indicates I was in the line for food at 1:38 PM.

By 1:40 PM, I had noted that the price of my order was two cents away from being thematically relevant:

And by 1:47 PM (it had taken them a while to get the strawberry lemonade figured out), I had given up on making the bus, choosing to sit down to eat my meal:

[$17.74 my ass.]

Was my missing the bus merely a consequence of Chick-fil-A not having the strawberry lemonade up and running? Not really. Before getting in line, frankly, I had already felt “the wave” pass over me. That is, I had already understood myself to not be truly serious about a last-minute bus ride to Albany. Coming up the escalator from the subway part of the station (there used to be a World Cup ad here, but now there was a Dunkin ad), I had a revelation.

“It is in James’ blog I will relieve my anguish.”

In other words, the solution was to take the suffering this decision put me through and “sublimate it” into a bit of writing that I could look back on in the future.

Before getting into my other compelled action – the one I hinted had involved James in some capacity – it would do me well to summarize what had preceded my impulsive ride down to South Station.

First and foremost, there were some classic causes of fatigue and clouded decision-making: significant hunger due to a small breakfast and an abundance of walking around; being in a literal heat wave that was likely making me dehydrated; and only managing about five hours of sleep the prior night:

Now, what had caused me to walk around so much in the morning? Here, I had decided – also somewhat impulsively, after concluding I was too “excited” to get a second round of sleep – to attend the live reading of the Declaration of Independence at the Old State House. At around 8:20 AM, I quickly scarfed down a half-breakfast at the Adams dining hall and was off.

Somehow, I managed to get a damn good view of the event (the reading was scheduled for 10:15, but the parade started at 9:00). Entirely by accident, I ended up on the side of the building, with a clear view of the balcony and only a few people in front of me. This appeared to be a lesser-known location in the sense that you could squeeze into it a mere ten minutes before the onset of the parade and still get a view like I did:

What ensued at that point was a bunch of music to hold us over until the parade arrived. “Born in the U.S.A.” – yes, I am aware of the song’s cynical lyrics – was what drew me to the building in the first place, as I have yet to memorize the streets of downtown Boston.

[Apparently there was a syncing problem with one of the speakers?]

Other songs included: “Proud to be an American,” “American Pie,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” “New York, New York,” “I’m Shipping up to Boston,” “Party in the USA,” “Hotel California,” “Take Me Home, Country Roads” “Free Bird,” and “Don’t Stop Believin’.” The last one was interrupted when the parade arrived.

[This touching moment was preceded by a robust, sanguine “Yankees suck!” from a man kinda close to me.]

As a result of this event, I now understand why a guy who went to my high school would talk about rolling his car windows down to blast “Free Bird” (it’s the guitar solo at the end).

Also, given the predominantly name-based song selection criteria, I was saddened by the exclusion of Childish Gambino’s “This is America,” Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Californication,” and Radiohead’s “The National Anthem.” /s

So the event begins. Mayor Wu gives her introductory spiel, which is fine – not much in the way of politics people could disagree with. Then there’s a little bit of trumpet playing, then a guy singing “God Bless America.” Eventually we get to the main event – a word-for-word recitation of the Declaration of Independence by a man from the same artillery unit (apparently) as the soldier who recited the Declaration from that very balcony in 1776.

He does a pretty good job, only struggling through the word “magnanimity,” but making a good joke out of it. He takes his time, allowing the weight of the words to sink in. Admittedly, I’ve never done too deep a dive into the Declaration of Independence. My main takeaway from this is that “let Facts be submitted to a candid world” is a great run of words, as is “we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”

The recitation, being of the entire document, also included the stuff about “merciless Indian Savages,” which got a reaction out of a woman near me. This may have also been the person who said “and women” after the phrase “all men are created equal” was uttered. Generally, however, I heard little in the way of people criticizing the text.

There were a few characters in the crowd near me. Most objectively notable, perhaps, was a woman trying to get her father’s attention, as he was one of the police officers at the front of the parade. Lots of screaming “Dad, it’s (DON’T REMEMBER NAME)! I love you!” and things of that nature. She was good at getting people who didn’t know her to laugh.

Most subjectively notable, however, was a little girl stuck in a stroller and positioned right next to me. I couldn’t quite figure out her age, but she looked too old to be in a stroller and may have had a disability of some variety. The way they had her stroller oriented, she was probably staring at me for much of the event, though it was hard to tell, as anytime I turned to check I made direct eye contact with a piercing blue that… made me want to look away.

By the end of the event, when it was clear this girl wasn’t in a very good position to be catching confetti, I gave her a piece I had managed to catch. She seemed happy. A boy who I can only assume was her brother gave her a red piece of confetti to complement my blue. It is unknown if a white piece was located to complete the set.

At the conclusion of the event she was whisked away, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t done much research before attending this event (my understanding the night before being that I would sleep through all of this stuff), so I was at a bit of a loss as to what came next. Apparently, the move was to go to Faneuil Hall for the oration (which was inside?), but by the time I got whiff of what was going on, it was too late. The line was enormous, the sun was out in full force, and it was clear I wouldn’t make it into the building before the speeches started.

So I made the call to go back, wandering the streets of Boston until I found a T stop on the Red Line (Downtown Crossing). I had a largely uneventful ride, save for one of those solicitors asking me if I wanted to go to church, which I declined.

It was at this point – upon collapsing in the room – that I was faced with the prospect of ending my day in Upstate New York. I do not know quite how long I spent in this act of “deliberation,” but the results of that deliberation have been discussed.

But to go over this idea of “compelled action” some more. The other example I’m thinking of involved the death of my grandfather in 2022. On a Saturday, the decision was made to move to comfort measures only. I gave my last words. The next day (Easter Sunday) I did not go to the hospital as other (older) family members were taking turns making sure someone was always in the room with him. But I could not have it end like this. I knew I needed to be there for the very end.

Fast forward to Monday night. I’m at home and I can’t fall asleep. I have this nagging feeling – apparently out of nowhere – that I need to get to the hospital now. Not tomorrow morning, but now. I happened to be messaging the same James who contributes to this blog, discussing the situation and my ongoing vehicle problems. He told me I should be with my grandfather, and he asked me for my home address and the address of the hospital. Believe it or not, I had never used a ride-sharing app in my life at that point, and James said he would handle the logistics of an Uber. All I needed to do was get outside at the appropriate time.

So I did just that. Juliana pulls up in her white Honda Civic, right on schedule, and she brings me to the hospital. I have a pleasant conversation with her. She talks about all the odd jobs she has to string together to make ends meet. She’s a hard worker. I feel for her. My one regret from that night was not tipping her the three $50 bills in my wallet.

So I get inside the hospital and go to where my grandfather is resting. I get into the room and my mother is there. He is still breathing.

Less than an hour later he is not.

I was there for the final breath. I had gotten into my pajamas, pulled up my chair next to him, and leaned it back. He was sleeping, and for his last hour, he was sleeping with me lying next to him. It was a peaceful thing.

This is what I mean by a “compelled action.” Where the prospect of not being there – wherever “there” is – is so unthinkable you start taking steps as if being guided by some outside force.

It happened in 2022, and it happened again on July 4th, 2026. In the former case, the compelled action brought me to the desired location. In the latter case, “the wave” passed over me and I resisted the urge. I believe my decision was correct in both cases. But to make the right call with such a strong inertia of loyalty coming into play – this is no small task. It leads to a good deal of what one may call “decision fatigue.”

But the rest of July 4th, 2026 – the big show in Boston, the people I met, the meaning of the decision that was made – will have to get a separate write-up. For now, I rest content knowing it was a good night.