The Fourth of July: Happy Birthday America, Happy Birthday to Me!

What one thing represents the Fourth of July for you? To me, it's birthday cake - coconut cake to be specific.

Okay, I realize that's a little odd. Most people would say fireworks, or even a barbecue. But for me, since I was very small, it was a white birthday cake, covered in meringue icing coated with coconut.

You see, for a big chunk of my young years, the Fourth of July celebrations were all about me, or at least I thought they were. My parents being the pragmatic people they were, combined my family birthday celebration with the annual Dewall family Fourth of July picnic. My birthday was July 3rd, so of course this made perfect sense. Good Swedes don't waste anything, and having picnics two days in a row just made no sense.

For reasons I've never been able to figure out, since those who would know have all long since passed away, relations with my father's extended family were somewhat limited, while most birthdays and holidays (even the minor ones) involved mass gatherings with my mother's rather large group of close relatives. And in warm weather, that meant picnics. Traditional spots were rigorously enforced. Mother's Day and Memorial Day meant Como Park, with a trip later to the Conservatory and the Zoo for the Sparky the Seal show and perhaps a ride on the kiddie train. The Fourth of July was always celebrated with a picnic on the island at Lake Phalen. (Being East Siders, Lake Phalen was our go-to spot for just about any type of activity.)

Step one: Mark your territory. My dad would go out right after sunrise and stake a claim to several picnic tables by taping disposable table cloths to them and setting out those aluminum frame lawn chairs with the plastic webbing. That was enough; East Siders respected that in those days. Today you could expect that the chairs would be gone and the plastic checkered tablecloths ripped off before your car was back on Johnson Parkway. But not then. In those days there was something sacred about a picnic area that already had signs of impending use.

In kitchens all over the East side picnic baskets and drink coolers were being filled with potato or macaroni salad, sliced ham on buns, tuna noodle salad with canned peas, relish trays, and some sort of cake. You see, my family believed that there was always room for cake, and since this was a child's birthday/major holiday, EVERY household contributed a cake. And each had their specialty. My mom's was a 9x13 Pyrex pan of banana cake frosted with cream cheese icing. (She made it the night before and put it in the freezer so it wouldn't melt in the usual mid 90s heat.) One aunt - I forget which - made a luscious yellow layer cake with chocolate chips in the cake batter, slathered in the creamiest chocolate fudge frosting. My Grandma Ray's contribution was usually her legendary chocolate cake (to which no one, even after rummaging through her cookbooks after her death) ever got the accurate recipe. But the crowning glory was my Grandma Dewall's coconut cake. (Sometimes, but rarely, with bits of pineapple or chopped up marascino cherries in the cake.)

As you may have surmised, that coconut cake was my favorite. And because of that, this was the cake that got the birthday candles put on it. Grandma Dewall was a consummate baker, and while later in growing up I learned a lot in her kitchen, in those days I simply enjoyed the fruits of her labor.

Step two: Assemble the party. As if by carefully timed scheduling, the cars full of aunts and uncles and cousins all arrived at the parking area about the same time. This was long before the days of cell phones, so this is a more impressive feat than you might imagine. Hauling the food and assorted picnic essentials from the parking lot to the Island picnic area meant no one took a step without full arms. Even the smallest children could carry something, and baby strollers were packed with whatever else might fit. And as if carefully choreographed, the aunts stepped in as one to set out the food. Red, white, and blue crepe paper streamers were taped to table edges, and small paper flags were stuck in the dirt around the trees (lest some errant child trip and poke his eye out).

Step three: Fill yourself to the brim. The adults, in order of age, lined up to fill their plates. They had been doing this for so many years that it was almost automatic. Each knew his place. Once the adults were served, the moms went to fill plates for smaller children, and then the older kids could help themselves. They all knew moms were looking so they were careful to take some of everything. And of course there were seconds. If you didn't take more than one plate full, someone would be offended.

Step four: Celebrate. Once the main meal was consumed, the candles on the cake were lit, and I was allowed to blow them out, kneeling on the picnic bench as everyone sang happy birthday to me. My mom cut me a sliver of each type of cake and escorted me back to my seat. The presents did not come out until every last crumb of cake was consumed and cleanup was done. The Swedes after all are a restrained people, and even a birthday party on the Fourth of July was no excuse to abandon order. But all in all, I felt really special, despite the restraint.

Later, while the adults dragged the folding lawn chairs to shady spots under the trees, my cousins and I found ways to amuse ourselves without getting out of hand. A game of croquet, bubbles, or perhaps badminton. But the sharp eyes of our moms made sure we never ventured too close to the lagoon that meandered around the island into the lake. Should a ball or a shuttlecock hit the water, well, that was the end of that game. And most likely a lecture on the way home about how much it would cost to replace it.

But it wasn't over yet. The evening concluded with all the picnic gear being packed back into the cars, and most families heading for a spot along with lake, where we could watch the fireworks set off over Lake Phalen from either those lawn chairs or our cars. Occasionally it would rain and there would be no fireworks. But fireworks or not, I went home feeling incredibly special, that all those people turned out to celebrate my birthday - even strangers!

Yes, I eventually figured out that the Fourth of July wasn't for me, but even now after all these decades, when I think of this holiday it's always coconut birthday cake.