I have long celebrated the Fourth of July with as much gusto as a person of my habits and sensibilities can manage.

I do not claim that instead of the usual stork I was delivered by an American eagle. My patriotism is more subtle.

If someone passes out small American flags, I will discretely wave one. If a parade float passes by and Tootsie Rolls are tossed, I will do my duty and grab two or three – then hand them to a nearby child of any race, color or creed. I do not ask for proof of citizenship.

There was a time when I would have stuffed myself on copious potato salad, generous watermelon slices, suspect hot dogs and so much more to honor my country. But at my age extremism in the pursuit of fullness could result in something akin to the all-night assault on Fort McHenry.

In recent years we have invited ourselves to Plainfield’s July 4th parade, which has sufficient small-town charm to satisfy us city slickers from the metropolis of Lebanon. (A major medical center and Jersey Mike’s too! Imagine that.)

The parade is big enough to make little kids happy and small enough that it does not wear out its welcome. When I was a boy in Rhode Island, my family sometimes went to a parade in Bristol, R.I., with more marchers than Washington’s Continental Army.

There were all manner of bands, riders on horseback, soldiers, clowns, minor celebrities like TV weathermen, colonial canons that shivered your timbers, and cotton candy vendors galore.

My favorite unit was a squad of corrupt but popular mayors — always a staple in Rhode Island. (Some possibly released for the day from the state prison.) They didn’t pass out candy or unmarked bills, but campaign staffers walked on the sidelines accepting off-the-books donations.

Despite wonders like these, the day moved on from delight to fatigue. You can only see so many Drum and Fife Corps (I think there were dozens, from as far away as New York and Philadelphia, but not yet Canada and Greenland). Eventually it feels repetitive, since they all play a high-pitched Yankee Doodle.

Yes, he came to town riding on a pony, but why he stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni was and remains a mystery to me.

Later in the evening the city of Providence put on a massive fireworks show, said to be particularly outstanding in election years. Certain neighborhoods hosted illegal Drunk Firework Displays, both spectacular and alarming. There’s nothing like bombs bursting in air in close proximity to the electric grid.

Here in the Upper Valley, the mayhem is more modest, although I can't account for what happens in the nether reaches of country towns. Lebanon isn’t having fireworks this year, which is a little disappointing, although I often claim I’ve seen enough fireworks to last a lifetime.

Yet when the skies grow dark on July 4, we usually go out and feed the mosquitos. Maybe we will meander to the Lyman Bridge and see what’s what in the skies over Hartford.

If we hear anything from Norwich, it could be fireworks, or they may have commenced grievance proceedings over new property assessments. Perhaps tax protesters will re-enact the Boston Tea Party by pouring barrels of tea into the Connecticut River. Only if it’s environmentally friendly, of course. Perhaps chamomile will do.

No matter what, the hiss and booms will continue far too late for this senior citizen, who thinks it self-evident that loyal countrymen should put their fun to bed by 10 p.m. at the latest.

All kidding aside, I have long cheered for the red, white and blue and all that, the entirety of America. It felt OK to admit our flaws, our grievous mistakes, and still hope for a better future.

But on this July 4th the birthday party is awkward; the American family is divided — half think things are great and half fear tyranny and malice. Your nephew has gotten a MAGA tattoo on his neck and your liberal niece can’t stop sobbing. I haven’t seen the likes of it since the 1968 Democratic Convention, in the year of tear gas and billy clubs.

People have different ideas about what patriotism requires. “America — Love It or Leave It’’ bumper stickers said then. That ignores a great strength of our nation: We are free to oppose and correct the government whenever we believe it errs.

You can oppose it with all your might, and thereby serve your country with honor. And right now, in personal terms, it feels like we need an intervention.

O say can you see: We love you America, but we’re worried about you.

Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.