My brother drowned trying to save someone else on the Fourth of July. I dread the holiday every year.

• On the Fourth of July, 1990, my brother Robbie was trying to save a swimmer in distress.
• The water was dangerous, and he drowned. 
• Now, I dread the holiday every year. 

When friends invite me to a Fourth of July party, I decline. I hate this holiday. While the rest of America is celebrating, I'm reliving the day my brother drowned, the day my family went from eight kids to seven.

Being the last in a long line of Funk kids was my whole identity growing up. Four boys and four girls were born in the span of 12 years: Paul, Sue, Tom, Carol, Ellen, Robbie, Dave, and me, but our dad introduced me as his caboose.