The Fourth of July: An Outsider’s Perspective

Growing up as a U.S. citizen outside the United States, the 4th of July was always something I observed from a distance; a holiday I knew about through movies and the family group chat, but never truly experienced. But as they say, there is a first for everything. 2025 marks the year I finally got to celebrate Independence Day the way I’d always imagined, trading my role as distant observer for active participant. The following is a recap of my experience.

The holiday started early in Hanover, with the annual town parade taking place at 10 a.m. It was small, a nice show of local participation and activism. The parade felt like stepping into a Norman Rockwell painting. Local businesses, school groups, and what seemed like half the town’s dogs marched by while families lined the streets with folding chairs and coolers. A fine display of old timer cars, Sun-God, even Dartmouth’s own KDE sorority joined in with a chant. I found myself clapping most enthusiastically for the Hanover fire department though, whose firetruck elephant walk (no, not that one) was a proud display of the department’s modest but well-maintained capabilities. But the whole thing was already over after 10 minutes. A perfectly Hanover-sized celebration that somehow managed to feel both charmingly brief and completely satisfying.

Following the parade, the town crowd immediately coalesced on the Dartmouth Green, and the smell of barbecue soon began to envelop the air. What struck me here was less the grand spectacle I had anticipated, but the community feeling that permeated the crowd. People came from all sorts of places—families with toddlers, elderly couples with lawn chairs, Dartmouth students participating in sophomore summer. Every age group was represented, and activity stands dotted around the Green’s perimeter offered everything from face painting to barbeque.

Short on cash, however, I went to Aquinas House for their lunchtime cookout, where I was able to meet a few new faces, including some students who had just returned from exchanges or years abroad. There was something poetic about celebrating American independence alongside fellow travelers who, like me, had experienced home from a distance before finding their way back.

For the afternoon, I joined a group of graduate student friends for a potluck barbecue near the Union Village Dam, contributing what I thought was a very American pink lemonade and apple cider (though I would later learn my decision to serve them both uncooled was decidedly not American). The conversations flowed easily. Research, summer plans, favorite fireworks memories. The gathering ended with a hike to the dam and a nice improvised match of baseball using sticks.

The day concluded with a fireworks display in Wilder, VT. I drove there with friends, and as we watched explosions of color, I couldn’t help but think: Americans really do love and retain their right to blow things up. All those stories about firework accidents (Jason Pierre-Paul, I’m looking at you) suddenly made sense. We are a nation that has collectively decided that celebratory explosions are worth the risk. It reminded me of Berlin on New Year’s Eve, where the populace also claims their pyrotechnic rights with equal enthusiasm.

As a citizen who didn’t grow up with these rituals, I was overall struck by how the holiday created instant common ground. There was an unspoken understanding that today we were simply Americans enjoying the act of being American. For foreigners, the equivalent does not always exist. It was less about politics, more about the quiet magic of shared tradition and collective chillout. A display of simple compatriotship, uncomplicated and genuine. Walking home under the summer sky, I realized this July 4th had finally given me a sense of cultural home to match my legal citizenship. For that discovery, I am deeply grateful (and already anticipating next year’s 250th anniversary).