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The Fourth of July brings to mind my friend Carlo.

He used to give the best Fourth of July parties. His house had a big back yard with a great view of the town of Blacksburg's fireworks display. There would be tons of food, always with Carlo's specialty, Mexican pico sauce with homegrown peppers.

There'd often be a band playing. There would often be art projects going on.

Carlo and his large circle of friends threw lots of art parties. The art part of the party was delightful, whether making tie-dyes, wood-burning, drawing all over the place with sidewalk chalk or watching Bear carve ice sculptures with his chain saw.

My contribution was usually drawing on people with watercolor crayons or painting people's toenails.

I met Carlo and his gang at an art party and continued to meet the extended family of friends at the London Underground Pub, a Blacksburg dart bar.

In addition to art parties, Carlo's gang would play in the dart league on Tuesday nights, go camping several times a year and go fishing whenever they could.

As I became part of the group, I had the good fortune to be included in these activities and got to know Carlo pretty well. He was so patient and good-humored. Driving back from a weekend of camping once, I started naming every tree, shrub, flower and weed I saw. Just once -- if I saw a type of plant a second time I'd skip it.

"Spruce. Willow. Mimosa. Rhododendron. Queen Anne's Lace. Clover. Iris. Tiger Lily. Kudzu. Azalea."

After about half an hour of this, Carlo said, "Naming plants, huh? Are you just doing each one once? Because I think you already said azalea."

And that was all. He didn't mind if I shot acorns out the car window with my slingshot. He didn't get mad when he was teased or people acted silly. He was cheerful and funny.

At the pub, he liked to say when he'd get his first tequila shot of the evening, "See you later!" After he'd had a few he'd high-five you, step on your toes and bop you with his belly and ask "Are we having fun yet?"

At one of Carlo's July Fourth parties, we were all standing in the back yard, watching the fireworks, oooohing and aaaahing, when our friend Cody started to sing. It doesn't happen that often, but when Cody does sing, people tend to stop and listen. He was singing the national anthem in his clear, strong voice. It rippled out from him as the people next to him joined in, then the people next to them.

When we faltered on those hard verses, Cody continued and brought us back in. By the last verse everyone at the party was singing and people on the street and sidewalk started singing, too. It was lovely and spontaneous and un-cynical, and I felt so pleased and proud to be a part of it.

Sometimes I feel so disappointed by the political climate in our country. I worry that stirring up patriotism is a technique meant to be divisive, to distract people from more important issues, such as the bad behavior of our elected officials.

Don't get me wrong, I love my country and have a lot of gratitude for living in a place where life is relatively easy and I have the freedom to be critical. But I usually question overt displays of patriotism.

As John Prine says, "Your flag decal won't get you into heaven anymore." But, for a little while, in Carlo's back yard, we were all patriots.

As you've probably guessed, we lost Carlo. On Oct. 23, 2004, he had a heart attack and died in his sleep. He was 49. Since then, we've lost several other good friends. As one of the bartenders at the pub said to me recently, "This place is full of ghosts." As I said to him, "Maybe I'll be one of them someday."

I hope you have a happy and safe Fourth of July. Take what pride you can in our big, flawed, beautiful country and take the opportunity to love one another; we are all too finite.

"See you later!"

Pris Sears grew up in Florida, lives in Blacksburg and works among Virginia Tech's computers.