Happy 232nd birthday, America! Today, we join together in celebrating life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Childhood Fourth of July celebrations in Wisconsin were always happy for Bob Cywinski.

“We watched the local fireworks display,” said the Bloomingdale resident. “We wanted to blast off fireworks of our own — which were readily available in Wisconsin — but my parents only allowed us to have sparklers.”

Jo Witucki of Hanover Park recalls childhood Fourth-of-July celebrations in the western suburbs.

“My grandparents would take us to the Independence Day festivities at North Riverside,” she said. “We played games and watched the barrel race. Firefighters would use water hoses to spray a barrel suspended on a high wire. If it was a hot day — which it usually was — we’d all get wet.”

Laura McGovern of Carol Stream recalls our nation’s Bicentennial Celebration.

“In 1976, I was camping with my parents and six siblings in South Dakota,” she said. “My dad had forgotten to stop for fireworks. We were in a pretty remote area.

“So while the rest of the country was watching spectacular fireworks, we had our own visual display. My brother filled empty Pringles cans with colored sand and dirt. He threw the cans in the air with a good spin. The sand and rocks sprayed out of the sides of the can. It wasn’t the most elaborate display I’ve ever seen, but it was the most memorable.”

For Catie VanValkenenburg of Roselle, the most memorable of Fourth of July was in 1979, when she was 9 years old. Against the advice of her parents, she spent the afternoon barefoot in the park with her best friend. The two laughed at the playground as they waited for nightfall.

When she arrived back home, she was greeted by a scolding. “That’s it! No fireworks for you tonight,” said her father.

“I begged and cried to no avail,” VanValkenburg said. “I cried myself to sleep that Fourth of July. My older brother laughed himself to sleep.”

For Wayne Murphy of Bloomingdale, the best Fourth of July was in 1957. He watched the rocket’s red glare through the windows of a train heading out of Boston. The next day, the Murphy family arrived in Chicago.

“Two months later, I entered fifth grade,” he said. “There, I met a pretty girl named Sharyn. She’s been my wife now for the past 41 years. And to think it all began with a train ride on the Fourth of July.”