The Fourth of July in Pacific Palisades wasn’t just an event. It felt like a living postcard — marching bands, vintage convertibles with smiling local heroes and floats decorated by every scout troop and neighborhood association.
When the parade finally arrived, cheers rippled through the Alphabet Streets neighborhood like waves. As magical as the day itself was, it was the feeling of community that lingered. On Iliff Street, where I grew up, neighbors didn’t just know each other — they felt like family.
I can only relive those memories in my mind, because now the Iliff Street I knew is gone. In fact, the entire Alphabet Streets, along with most of my beloved town and childhood home, has disappeared after the Palisades Fire. It feels as though someone redrew the map, not just of the neighborhood, but of my childhood. Nothing in Pacific Palisades will ever be the same, but, every Fourth of July to come, I hope I find myself smiling at the memories. And I need that to remember who I am…