John Adams was a patriot and a founding father of our nation. In a smaller way, he was also an oracle.

On July 3, 1776, he penned a letter to his beloved wife, Abigail. It was the day after the passage of the Declaration of Independence. The declaration was actually passed on July 2. It was printed, signed and announced to the public on July 4.

“I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival,” he wrote. “It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to God almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shews, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other from this time forward forever more.”

Nearly every portion of that statement has come to pass. But Adams was also realistic. He knew the pain that would precede the pomp and parades.

“You will think me transported with enthusiasm but I am not. I am well aware of the toil and blood and treasure that it will cost us to maintain this declaration and support and defend these states,” he wrote. “Yet through all the gloom, I can see the rays of ravishing light and glory. I can see that the end is more than worth all the means. And that posterity will triumph in that days transaction, even although we should rue it, which I trust in God we shall not.”

No, Mr. Adams, I don’t rue it. There is a vocal minority with their signs and slogans that believe the nation birthed with the Declaration of Independence is rotten to the core and should be replaced. I’m not among them. Like you, I “triumph in that days transaction.”

I’m a sucker for Independence Day. I love our republic and its flag. I love the show of patriotism that blooms like red, white and blue wildflowers in July.

There are three Fourth of July traditions that are particularly cherished in my memory.

The first is baseball games with my father. We would go to the old Mile High Stadium to see the Denver Bears. They would have fireworks after the game. It was a strong trinity of Americana: bonding with my dad, a baseball game and fireworks illuminating a mile high sky.

Magical.

The second was a weekend on the Puget Sound in Washington, not far from the naval base at Bremerton. Nearly all members of C Flight Security, 62 Security Police Squadron, U.S. Air Force, went to the home of the parents of Sgt. Harold Lovell. The Lovells had a bungalow right on the beach. They divvied us up into groups to forage for dinner. I was in the clam-digging group. Another set out to catch blue crabs. The third collected cockles, the meat of which looks like a flower. A son of the south who was on the cockle team insisted on mispronouncing the name.

“I’m just out here gettin’ these crackles,” he kept saying.

We spent the day collecting the shellfish. They went into a communal pot along with corn, potatoes and seasonings that easily fed the Lovells and their 50-plus guests.

After dinner came fireworks and beer. For many of the guests, it was mostly beer. A lot of beer.

I had been the head of the fireworks committee. Fireworks were generally illegal in Washington at the time, but they could be purchase on the Puyallup Indian Reservation, which had a shopping hub right alongside Interstate 5 in Tacoma, Wash. The Puyallups were brilliant businessmen. With their land smack in the middle of a major city, they sold cigarettes, gasoline, alcohol and any other item that was heavily taxed. Because they were not subject to local sales and use taxes, they could undersell everyone and still make a huge profit.

As the last of the fireworks were launched, we all found a place to sleep. Some were in the house, but most were in cars or under the stars. Few people ever experience anything like that weekend. I’m fortunate I did.

Finally, when I lived in Pueblo, we had a big cul-de-sac party on the Fourth of July. The entire neighborhood and their extended families attended. Everyone brought their most cherished family specialty, which made the food plentiful and spectacular. We had three grills cooking up burgers, hot dogs and anything else anyone thought to bring. Everybody brought out their portable tables and lined them up.

My brothers and I would made a pre-party trip to Wyoming for fireworks. The event was a cherished tradition for several years.

The Fourth of July is special. It is, as Adams said, “solemnized with pomp and parade, with shews, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other.”

And I, like Adams, pray this continues “from this time forward forever more.”