The Fourth of July is my favorite holiday, hands down.

You don't have to worry about buying presents or getting dressed up, meals are simple cookouts, not elaborate feasts, and perhaps most importantly, it's perfectly acceptable (though not necessarily legal) to set off a barrage of explosives in your backyard.

But those things aren't what make it special for me. What makes it special is that I was carefully instilled with a sense of patriotism -- one that I think a lot of members of my generation lack.

My maternal grandfather, Jack Saunders, loved his country. A World War II Navy veteran, he wanted his children and grandchildren to have the overwhelming respect for the United States that he did.

My younger sister and I spent many a summer in North Myrtle Beach, S.C., with my grandfather, whom we called Papa, and my grandmother, dubbed Meme by her grandchildren. During those vacations, they took us miniature golfing and to the beach and pool, but they also took us on historical mini-vacations to Colonial Williamsburg and Wilmington, N.C., to see the battleship North Carolina. There's a darling photograph of me and my sister perched on a cannon at Fort Sumter.

These trips were never grandiose history lessons or filled with cliches like "freedom isn't free." Papa never sat us down and had weighty talks about the importance of loving America; we just gleaned it from his demeanor and occasional comments. Papa was a reserved man, and the quiet respect he showed when we went to these historic locations didn't go unnoticed.

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When I was in the seventh grade, during a brief stint in the color guard, I spotted a girl, whose only responsibility was to carry the American flag, neglecting her responsibilities. The flag trailed behind her on the ground as she carried on a conversation, oblivious to the task at hand.

"Don't let the flag touch the ground!" I barked.

The bewildered girl turned toward me.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you don't!" I replied, incredulous. Where was this girl's grandfather? "It's totally disrespectful."

She lifted the flag off the ground and I went back to twirling my rifle, satisfied with my execution of Papa's teachings.

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Papa's most bombastic displays of patriotism always came on the Fourth of July.

I was probably around age 10, asleep in the upstairs bedroom of my grandparents' house in South Carolina, when I was suddenly jarred awake by "Stars and Stripes Forever" blaring above my head. They had a speaker system throughout the house, including outside, and I'm fairly certain this was the only day of the year Meme would let Papa blast music at sunrise.

I walked downstairs, shocked and still groggy, to find Papa had already raised the American flag on the front of the house and was lightly marching around, whistling along to the music.

The remainder of the day was filled with food and sparklers and fireworks and, despite the abrupt awakening, Papa made sure everyone enjoyed not only the day, but the importance of the day.

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Please note that I'm not talking about blind patriotism here -- Papa kept up with politics and was sometimes critical of our government. While I'm not sure our politics would've matched up exactly, I think he'd want me to say that I love my country even if I disagree with some of the decisions of the government.

And I do.

So this year, I'll be celebrating Independence Day like I do every year. I'll make a simple potato salad, buy some sparklers and other lame, Pennsylvania-legal "fireworks," and find the real fireworks display closest to where I'm celebrating.

I've also downloaded "Stars and Stripes Forever" from iTunes and uploaded it to my iPod.

This year, I think I'll see just how loud the speakers on my iPod dock can get.