(The following is a nonprofit work of fanfiction and is outside of the original canon. All names, characters, businesses, places, events, and/or incidents of any kind depicted within this story are being used for entertainment purposes only.)

(The Loud House and all related characters were created by Chris Savino and all rights belong to Nickelodeon.)

- Chapter Twelve -

Born in the U.S.A.

Saturday, July 4th...

Another bright day for another time of family-related fun.

And what better way to do so than to have it on the 4th of July itself? The mouth-watering aroma of grilled hot dogs and hamburgers wafted in the open summer air. Dad, garbed in his favorite chef's apron and hat, stood attentively in front of the grill, flipping over beef patties, and turning the hot dogs over with his prized spatula. Some of the dripping fat from the patties caused the propane-activated flames just below to grow big for a second, inching closely towards the surface.

Mom then appeared from out of the backdoor of the kitchen, carrying in her hands a large pitcher of ice-cold lemonade, along with a stack of red plastic cups under her arm to go with it.

Our backyard was pretty spacious as the yard in the front, so we didn't have to worry that much about there not being a whole lot of room. Lori and Leni sat on the far-right side of our American flag-decorated wooden picnic table opposite each other. They talked about things any teenage girl like them would; boys, clothes, their plans for later this summer—and also a bit of Bobby in Lori's case—the usual stuff. Lana and Charles played a little game of tug-o-war with a thick piece of rope, while Lola sat next to Lori, looking at herself in her handheld mirror and combing her long blond hair.

Lucy sat under the shade of our oak tree, reading another one of her scary books: The Call of Cthulhu by H.P. Lovecraft. Luna sat on the concrete step of our small back porch, her boombox resting on her right shoulder with Bruce Springsteen's Born in the U.S.A. playing almost at full volume. It was always kind of funny to me that people would frequently misconstrue that song as nothing but the boasting of American pride, completely missing the point of what Bruce was actually singing about; the economic hardships of Vietnam War veterans upon returning home from said war.

But regardless of the song's message, it still did nothing to prevent other people from feeling patriotic, nonetheless.

Lynn and Luan sat on the left-side of the picnic table across from Lori, Leni, and Lola, and the two of them were in the midst of talking about things that correlated more to their respective interests. Namely, sports, comedy, preferred team player/stand-up comic, etcetera. Luan even brought along her dummy in the hopes of sharpening her comedic skills. This dummy of hers was a wooden puppet she constructed a few short years ago and she aptly named him, "Mr. Coconuts". Though she never saw it—or she was just not willing to—but that dummy always gave all of us the creeps. Still did.

Lily sat on her diapered behind in the middle of the freshly cut grass playing with a Stretch Armstrong Lana had given her, giggling happily with a big smile plastered on her face. Lisa closely watched her from the sidelines, jotting down whatever she was writing in her notepad. I seem to remember her telling me about wanting to study more on human behavioral patterns or something. I, for one, quietly sat in a green lawn chair close to the left side of the backyard, a pair of reflected sunglasses worn over my eyes and sipping an ice-cold soda can of orange-flavored Crush through a little plastic straw.

I leaned further back against the face of the chair and took a soothing inhalation of the summer air, as well as the hypnotic scent of the food cooking on Dad's grill.

Now this is the life, I thought to myself before taking another sip of my soda. No school, no homework, no Chandler, no worries. Just me, my family, and the sweet feeling of American freedom and the warm sun on my face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Grouse!" Dad abruptly called out to our elderly next door neighbor. "Happy Independence Day!" Through my sunglasses, I saw Mr. Grouse walking over to the side of his house close to ours while carrying a large black trash bag in his wrinkly hands. After stuffing the bag inside a steel trash can, he glanced at Dad with his nostrils flared into a sneer. He let out an agitated "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" before walking back towards the front door of his house.

"Just what is that old man's damage?" Lynn questioned, frowning in utter disbelief. "We try to be nice to him, and he treats us like we're the worst to ever exist. Is there anything in the world that makes him happy? Like, at all?"

"You'd think after living next door to us for years, he would have gotten used to it by now," Lola remarked, still combing her hair with each graceful stroke. "I think he needs to get out more."

"I don't get it," Leni spoke up. "Why is he always so mean?"

"I wish we knew the answer for that." Lynn replied, resting her head in her hands.

"You guys think Mr. Grouse even celebrates the 4th of July?" Luan asked curiously.

"I honestly doubt that," Lori replied, checking her fingernails, "since he seems far too much of a grump to even do so, let alone express his love for his own country." That was when I saw Lynn's eyes suddenly widen. I've seen her make that expression many times before to know that an idea had appeared in her head. And I could tell that it wasn't a good one.

"Or... maybe it's because he's secretly a freedom-hating communist," she concluded, a tone of suspicion now present in her voice. I frowned and rolled my eyes underneath my sunglasses. Exactly what I had feared.

Seriously, Lynn? I thought you knew better by now. This was not the first time Lynn had made such quick assumptions like that. I know this for a fact because I was on the receiving end of them a couple times myself beforehand. Dreadful memories I would rather not go into any detail about. They were just that bad, believe me. Everybody else stared at Lynn in surprise, taken aback by such an unwarranted comment that had come out of her mouth. Even Lily appeared to be shocked.

"That's a totally un-bodacious thing to say, sis!" Luna accosted her, as James Brown's Living in America started playing on her boombox. "Just because Mr. Grouse doesn't celebrate the 4th of July the same as we do doesn't mean he's a commie!"

"I'm afraid I must strongly concur with our third oldest sibling unit," Lisa said, as she cleaned her rounded glasses with the bottom hem of her green sweatshirt, "for I find the likelihood that our elderly next door neighbor being clandestinely a devotee of a backwards political system that is strongly propagated by the Soviet Union to be extremely improbable."

"Hey, I'm only sayin', guys!" Lynn tried to reason. "You never know for sure!"

"I'd rather you didn't go around spreading baseless allegations like that, Lynn Loud Jr.," Dad sternly warned his fourteen-year-old namesake, as he delicately placed the cooked burger patties and hot dogs on a large food tray. He turned around with the tray in his hands and shot her a hardened glare. "You do remember what happened the last few times you did that, right?"

Begrudgingly acknowledging what our father just said, Lynn mildly bowed her head low and folded her arms, not at all happy with having to be reminded of her past mistakes. Some of the girls gave each other awkward glances, appearing just as equally guilty for having done the same before.

"And besides, the last thing this country needs right now is more mass hysteria," Dad continued, setting the tray now full of food on the picnic table, "not to mention the possibility of having another Red Scare thrown on our laps."

"Believe us, kids," Mom added, assorting the paper plates and condiments on the picnic table. "The one your father and I went through back in the 1950's was bad enough already. We don't need to have that nightmare back in our lives again." What Mom and Dad said was no joke. My siblings and I were told stories about the Red Scare that occurred way back in the 1950's.

A many number of people—including those from the opposite side of the political spectrum—were suspected and accused of secretly being members of the Communist Party. Even actors from Hollywood were blacklisted under the same level of suspicion. In a nutshell, it was like a modern-day version of the Salem Witch Trials. I couldn't help but cringe a little bit when I remembered some of the stories.

Let's hope something like that doesn't happen again in the near future. I thought. After everything was all set up, Dad called us all in a loud voice to "Come and get 'em!" Like a group of moths following towards a bright light, we all ran over and took our spots around the picnic table. We then folded our hands and bowed our heads and Mom led us with a short word of prayer before finally letting out a sound, "Amen", and we got our plates and served ourselves up in no time.

Once again, Dad spared absolutely no expense in making such amazingly delicious food, like he always did. His famous "Lynn-burgers" as he called them, were always top notch, seasoned with a level of Cajun spices to give it a good kick.

Another tubular job well done, Dad! I thought with a sense of pride for my old man. As a short amount of time went on, having seconds, thirds, and sometimes getting a bit too creative with our meal, a curious thought suddenly popped into my head, my brain rewinding back to earlier about the Soviet Union. I turned to face Lucy, who sat closely to my left.

"Hey, Luce," I whispered to her, my mouth half-full of food. "What do you think the people in the USSR celebrate? What kind of holiday do you think they have over there?" Lucy paused for a few seconds before shrugging her little shoulders at my question.

"I'm not really sure," she replied, as she poured a large amount of Heinz ketchup on top of her second Lynn-burger. Lori had heard our little conversation and she spoke up.

"Pfft, who knows what those Russkies do," she said with clear indifference in her voice. "For all we know, they probably have holidays centered on worshiping Stalin and Marx like they're gods or something!"

I guess it wouldn't surprise me if they actually did something like that, I mentally commented with a tiny snort. Just as I was about to take bite of my burger, another thought suddenly came to mind, one that made me second-guess myself.

But then again, does everybody in the Soviet Union really love it over there? Do their people truly believe that their government's communist way of life is great and all? Before I was able to think any deeper into the subject, I was abruptly pulled back into reality when I heard Mom call my name.

"Lincoln, I need you for a second," she declared. I sighed quietly through my nose.

What's it going to be this time? I thought, setting my burger down on my plate.

"Watcha need, Mom?" I asked her, after sucking in my bottom lip and climbing out of my spot from the picnic table. She then walked up to me and handed me a paper plate that had two Lynn-burgers with all the fixings in them resting on top.

"I want you to go give these to Mr. Grouse," she instructed me.

"What for?" I asked back.

"So that he doesn't feel left out," she replied. "I think it would be really nice to give him a little something to help lift his patriotic spirits up." My delicate shoulders drooped, and I looked at her in disbelief. You've got to be kidding me! That's the last thing I want to do right now!

"But, Mom, can't you have Lori do it instead?"

"It's just really quick, Lincoln," she reasoned. "You'll be done before you even know it."

"Oh, come on," I complained. "Do I really have—"

Faster than the speed of thought, I immediately held my tongue when my mother looked down at me with a hardened expression, a look that any young kid out there in the world will easily recognize notably as "the look". You know exactly what I'm talking about: brows tightly furrowed, stern eyes that were cold as winter—if not also hard as steel. Mom pursed her lips into a straight-line as she placed her hands on her wide hips. I sighed again and bowed my head low in defeat.

"Right away, ma'am." There I was, forgetting about not trying to argue with my mother.

"That's what I thought," she stated, before pointing a straight finger over at Mr. Grouse's house. With no other option, I wordlessly did as I was asked and marched my scrawny little behind from the backyard, past our driveway, and over to Mr. Grouse's front patio, paper plate of food in my hands.

After I had approached the front door, I loudly knocked four times against the wooden surface, and I stood there waiting as patiently as I could. I then let out an inaudible grumble, muttering to myself about how I would rather be chowing down on my Lynn-burger while playing a round or two of Duck Hunt than be out here forced to give a less-then-happy neighbor of ours some of Dad's cooking. After waiting for about a minute, the front door finally opened to reveal the last person I wanted to see right now.

Mr. Grouse stood abreast before me, arms hanging from his shoulders and a less-so-pleasant look on his aged face, like he would seem to always have. His lips morphed into a frown right below his large white mustache when he saw me.

"What do you want, Loud?" he asked impatiently, arms crossed over his chest.

Mr. Grouse was a heavy old man who appeared to be possibly somewhere in his seventies. He was very bald-headed, and he had a large nose where his small pair of glasses rested on. As just mentioned earlier, he had a large white mustache. The clothes he was dressed in clearly screamed old-fashioned, a blue necktie with dark-colored lines, a black vest with one yellow-colored button, and an all-white dress shirt, along with a pair of brown pants and dark brown loafer shoes.

"Hey there, Mr. Grouse," I said, offering him the plate of food with a cheerful smile—albeit a rather forced one. "Mom thought it would be nice to give you some of Dad's famous Lynn-burgers. Because, you know, to help lift your patriotic spirits up." The old man sneered, and his creased brows toughened. And here I thought Mom giving my siblings and I "the look" was bad enough already.

After what felt like forever, Mr. Grouse rolled his eyes before relenting with a sigh clearly filled with annoyance.

"If it'll get you off my property and leave me alone, then fine." he grunted snatching the paper plate of food away from my hands. Seeing now that my mission had been accomplished as well as no reason to be here any longer than I should, I quickly twisted around like I was Michael Jackson and started to make my way back home until Mr. Grouse let out a sudden holler.

"Oh, and one more thing, Loud!" he said. I moaned under my breath again. What is it now? Hesitantly, I looked back to face him, giving the old codger another one of my forced smiles. But to my surprise, I saw that he now had a much softer expression on his wrinkly face. Rather shyly, he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Uh..., tell your mother I said thank you," he stated in a calm and appreciative manner. "And, uh..., Happy 4th of July."

And with that, he circled around and disappeared back inside his own house without another word. Seeing him do that left me feeling a little bit surprised. For as long as I'd known him, Mr. Grouse absolutely hated living next door to us, which was highly understandable now that I thought about it, since my family were not exactly the quietest bunch in the neighborhood. We certainly did live up to our name, that's for sure. But what I just saw made me realize there was more to this seemingly grumpy old man than meets the eye.

And you know what? It actually made me smile a little bit, but genuinely this time.

Well, what do you know? I thought to myself, a new perspective beginning to take hold of me. A Happy Independence Day to you too, Mr. Grouse.

Sucking in a lung full of the afternoon air, I marched back over to my house, feeling my own spirits lifted up.