There are things you miss when you’re on active duty and deployed. Shoot, you can NOT be deployed and still miss birthdays, holidays, that kid walking for the first time because of duty or operations, whatever – but at least you’re still HOME.

But when you’re out on a boat in the middle of the Pacific, sitting in Djibouti, Africa, or a base plopped at the bottom of Japan, like I was, missing holidays kinda sucks. No one else is celebrating YOUR holidays.

My second-best favorite is Thanksgiving and my hands-down is the Fourth of July.

I’m just a red, white and blue kinda gal.

For Thanksgiving in Iwakuni (and Christmas, too) I was able to rustle up a pretty good rendition of a proper feast in a couple borrowed officer’s quarters. My girlfriend and I ran like crazy up and down staircases with turkeys, boiling pots of potatoes, and dealt with substituting ingredients trying to make sure the traditional bases were about covered in an effort to pull one together a proper chow for our maintenance control crew.

(Did you know they put palm oil in the “fresh” milk you buy in the dairy department at the commissary there?) (What is with that?)

A big room full of loud people eating well, and friends. Thankful.

But for the quintessential Fourth of July…man. You want to be around American flags, and bunting, and just wallow in everything American from your toes to the top of your head.

We were at loose ends there in Iwakuni that Fourth. What to do?

Well, we knew Hiroshima had a baseball team and we figured we’d see if we could catch a game. That’s Fourth of July right there.

Off we went on our bikes to the train station in Iwakuni. This was going to be a leap of faith in a very foreign country, especially as we weren’t sure they were even playing.

Lucky thing for us, there was a game, and we scored tickets at the box office walk-up! Where, we had no idea – don’t speak Japanese – but thrilled to get them and the girl behind the plastic was cute as a button.

The Hiroshima Toyo Carp were playing the Hanshin Tigers – should be a barn-burner.

Now baseball sounds like an all-American thing and the Japanese are crazy for it. They also do it very differently, as we found out almost immediately.

Our seats were front row, behind the fence, right at third base. “Seats” is kind of a kind description, as it was bleacher thingees consisting of a long, narrow board with plastic butt-plates bolted in about every two feet or so. Japanese butts are miniscule compared to 6’+ American guys and my not-so-insubstantial self.

We were out there by ourselves for a good long while, so they must have been the really cheap seats.

When batting practice was finished, the Carp took the field and the Tigers batted around, the stands were still empty.

“How weird,” we thought. “Does no one like baseball?”

Then the side retired and the Tigers took the field, and our second happy Fourth of July incident occurred. Trotting out to third to take his place for the Tigers was a long haired, mustachioed, about 6’3″ tall gaijin (foreign) player!

Holy CRAP!

He didn’t notice us concentrating as he was on getting situated, and we didn’t say anything.

In the meantime, the stands had started to fill, and the pageantry of the hometown baseball team at bat had begun. The favorites each stand at home respectfully before their at bats while a little 3 piece band plays what we took to be each player’s theme song, each time they come to the plate. The audience clapped in rhythm – everything was so neatly orchestrated, oh, my gosh. My Yankees/Angels baseball game mouth was itching to make noise and I didn’t dare.

Meanwhile, we watched carefully through the next batting rotation for the third baseman’s name – yup.

AMERICAN

And when he came trotting out for the next inning, we let him settle in and then, at the top of our lungs:

HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!!!!

Well, don’t you know his head whipped around so fast, I thought it’d spin off and he had the biggest Schlitz-eatin’ grin ever.

“HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY, yourselves!!! Where’d you come from?!”

He kept us company from that point forward.

It was just one of the best Fourth of Julys ever, finding another American in the middle of a baseball field at the end of Japan to yell the happiest of greetings to.

And make his day while making ours.

AMERICANS

Makes me cry, it’s such a beautiful word.

I love this country and there is no day like the Fourth of July on Earth.

May yours be red, white and blue wonderful.