This Fourth of July, let us be thankful, not gloomy

The great Dan Jenkins wrote this line once about being a sports columnist: “If you don't complain a lot, people get the idea all you're doing is having fun.” Heh, heh, heh. Truer words were never typed. And so sometimes, I may be somewhat of a curmudgeon. Like critiquing the free food I'm eating just before I sit in my front row seat for the game.

Today, though, we come in appreciation. I don't know. Maybe I'm getting soft in my middle age. But some stuff happened over the weekend that made me thankful for my circumstances — fittingly around a holiday that should make us all thankful for the opportunity to pursue that life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness thing.

Saturday night, I was lucky enough to attend the Lionel Richie concert at Foxwoods.

Sunday, I was lucky enough to sit on the beach, just a few miles from my house.

And I'm thinking: How lucky are we to live and work where we do? I mean, it sure beats Mongolia, doesn't it?

Saturday: The concert was fabulous. Lionel Richie hasn't lost an inch off his fastball. And we, through kismet mostly, were blessed with great seats. But here's the thing: It barely fazed me. Because I'm used to it. Not

necessarily at concerts, but sporting events. Free admission, courtside seats, access to locker rooms, talking to players. As the old line goes, we are overprivileged and underpaid.

But the friend with me Saturday wore a 50,000-watt smile the entire night. Wearing out her phone taking photos. Jumping around and singing. Happily talking to strangers around her. I haven't seen anyone that happy since Gene Kelly sang in the rain.

And maybe that's what did it. She was so … happy. Her perpetual wide-eyed look kept driving home a point for me: You get to do this a lot, pal. It's not normal. Again: not necessarily at a concert. But it applies to sports, too. Up-close-and-personal is a privileged way to make a living. And maybe I ought to spend more time in reflection, appreciating what I do and where I do it.

And then Sunday. A simple day at the beach. We go because we can. It's convenient. We don't have to drive an hour from some other state outpost. We get the local beach down the road from us.

Once again: Have you any idea how fortunate we are to live here? We have casinos/concert venues, beaches all around us, great places to eat, local sports and sports figures that unite communities, fun summers and quiet winters.

So maybe today, The Fourth of July, we pause to reflect on our good fortune. The concert awakened something in me. What I do sure beats coal mining, you know?

I understand this message will be dismissed in some outposts as idealistic Kumbaya. Hmmm. Sometimes I wonder what the colonists might have done if they knew their hard work would lead to so many muttering misanthropes by 2017. Maybe they'd have saved the tea and thrown themselves into Boston Harbor instead.

But you know what? The freedom to be gloomy is a freedom, too.

And so I choose to celebrate this Fourth of July happily, honoring what Erma Bombeck once wrote about it:

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.”

Love it. So indulge, folks. Picnic. Maybe a ballgame. Fireworks. Iffy potato salad. And remember how lucky we are to be doing it in our corner of the world.

As Lionel Richie (quite fittingly) told us Saturday: “raise the roof and have some fun … throw away the work to be done … let the music play on.” This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro