For the first time, I saw fireworks this summer. In reality, I have spent every Fourth of July since the beginning of my life sitting in a lawn chair gazing up at the sky in wonderment. Then something happened - I grew up.

The joy of sprinting around the lawn with a burning sparkler in my hand slowly disappeared. My inner child hibernated and I found new pleasures: when my crush brushed my arm, when I had a party, when I earned an A on an English paper, when I played a good basketball game. I found different things made me smile. The ways I made myself happy during my childhood could no longer reach me.

As I entered adulthood, I missed the days of building forts in the woods and trick-or-treating in homemade costumes. Spending time in nature was not a top priority like it had been when I was eight, and washing my hair had stopped being traumatizing.

Finally one day the joy of youth returned. Sitting in the back of a pick-up truck on a dusty road, I watched fireworks explode in the distance. For a moment, I did not think about college or my fear of my future. I wasn't concerned about my plans for the weekend; I didn't care how my hair looked, or if I could afford new shoes. Instead, I smiled when I saw my favorite fireworks. Like a golden weeping willow, they exploded over me, and I silently cheered. I laughed when the loud booms shouted in the countryside, and the beautiful colors amazed me. The array of pinks, blues and yellows glorified the sky.

Forty-five minutes later, the fireworks were over. I left with a different feeling in my heart. It felt spectacular to be reunited with the toothless child with dirt smudged on her face and holes in her jeans. I hope we can get together again soon.