7|17|2025Hey, Gem. I hope you're doing well and soaking in all the progress you've made from your hard work.
Let’s dive in!
Times Change x Shanice
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There was a time, over a decade ago, in Lake Helen, Florida, when July 4th was the highlight of my family’s summer. Had nothing to do with us being blindly patriotic. Nah, we’d never been. The holiday was spotlighted among us because it was ours. Our day to gather on our great-grandparents' stretch of land, laugh, stuff our faces, bully each other in card games like Uno and Spades, and honor our people’s resilience in a land that once tried to forget us. We made it a point to remember, celebrate, and most importantly, be together.
Togetherness, our foundation, meant the world to us.
The spicy, sweet tang of barbecue smoke would rise from the grill, wreathing into the hot, humid air like a featherlight ribbon. My uncle, Leon Sr, a master of the pit, swore by seasoned charcoal, patience, and a self-made skill backed by an ego no one ever disputed… because the food was too good!
The sizzle and heaviness of seasoned ribs hitting the grates was our opening theme, an anthem of gathering. My aunts would be in the kitchen in their floral aprons, sliding pans of baked mac and cheese and brown sugar baked beans into the oven as if they were sacred offerings. And honestly, they were!
Dominoes slammed on the table outside, and gospel music blared through the speakers, and kids shouted excitedly during dance battles, basketball games, and while climbing trees they had no business being in.
Every moment was loud and chaotic. But every moment was us. So much love in the air that you could burst into a million pieces of joy.
Besides our togetherness, we didn’t need much.
Perfection was in the thoughtful touches like fold-out tables, red Solo cups, bottles of cheap wine poured over frozen fruit, coolers filled with mini juices and off-brand sodas, and the right playlist of worship tunes. It was in the way we lounged in lawn chairs, some of us standing close together, yappin’ about God knows what.
With full bellies, we watched our homemade fireworks show against the sparkling stars of the night. The kids always had sparklers in their hands, some scared and dropping them on the ground, but most were brave and smiling at the small sparks.
The real fireworks were inside our hearts.
We had our issues, but that didn’t stop us from lighting up around each other.
There was always a moment, usually after the food and before the fireworks, when the elders gathered us around to talk. My great-grandfather or one of my uncles would mention the real history of the Fourth. How freedom didn’t reach all of us on July 4, 1776. How Juneteenth had come nearly a century later. And still, we gathered, not out of ignorance, but out of knowing what’s up. We celebrated in spite of, and sometimes because of, the contradiction. They reminded us of our power, and that joy was resistance too.
I didn’t know then how much I’d miss those talks. I wish I’d cherished them more. I wish I’d complained less about the warm temperatures or my cousins arguing over trivial things. I wish I’d slowed down, looked around, and just smiled at everyone while we were all together.
Because time, as it does, moved forward. We grew older. People moved, changed, and drifted. Some of the “glue” members, who made the calls, organized the events, cooked the food, and brought the family together no matter the drama, left us. Some passed away, and some quietly stopped showing up after letting offense take space in their hearts. The domino tables stopped clapping, the grill cooled, and the fireworks lost their sparkle.
And now, the silence in July is extremely loud. I have a love-hate relationship with it.
Artwork by Humble Homage
Some years, it feels like grief sneaks up on me around Independence Day, for the people we’ve lost and for the seasons that won’t come again. I find myself reaching for those memories when I close my eyes, grateful for their light.
I understand times change. It’s inevitable. And while that used to scare me, I’ve learned that change doesn’t erase what came before; it builds on it. Time changes things, but it also teaches. It slows us down enough to recognize what matters. It reveals that gratitude and grief can coexist.
For every family, I hope we reflect on how we've best shown up for each other and created magical memories. Reset back to unity and togetherness through every storm, sticking to traditions that strengthen our bonds. Because even as times change, we should be grateful for every season.
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Gem, share this blog with someone who needs the reminder that family is everything. And if things feel complicated, let’s be the change that brings us closer.
Until next time, I’m wishing you well and sending you lots of love. - Shanice.
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