The smoke from the Fourth of July fireworks has dissipated. The 24th of July fireworks stands have all been packed up and put away. The streets have been cleaned up, leaving no trace of private fireworks display that many neighborhoods hosted to celebrate the two holidays used to honor our freedom in July.

The fireworks are officially gone for another year, which is probably about the next time many of us will give our freedom a second thought. It's becoming easier and easier to forget about freedom.

When it comes to freedom, we have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder); we just can't concentrate on it very long. Just like the war in Iraq. It had our attention day after day while the troops progressed to Baghdad. Ratings at CNN soared. Newspaper sales were up.

But that's old news now. We have moved on to more interesting things, like the Kobe Bryant case.

It would be easy for me to forget too, if it wasn't for Frank Bramall, a friend who I simply call Frankie B.

I first met Frankie B. about 10 years ago when we played in a softball tournament together. There are a lot of egos in softball. I've seen players quit if they weren't batting high enough in the order or if they had to play catcher. Frank never worried about what position he played or where he hit in the lineup. He volunteered to catch, and suggested he hit last even though his bat belonged in the three spot.

Over the years we played in dozens of tournaments together, but the one in Gunnison was the most memorable.

Three of us were supposed to pick Frank up at an exit off of I-15 so we could ride together. We didn't see him sitting in his car at the exit, so we headed toward his house.

He saw us and quickly made a U-turn just in time to collide with a truck. We didn't hear the sound of breaking glass or metal bending, but by the time we decided to check the exit again he was there, filling out paper work with a police officer.

He looked at his watch -- 50 minutes until game time. Whiplash could wait. The car could be towed, he had a game to get to. He hurried the officer along, jumped in our car and we pulled into the parking lot of the field just as the tournament director was ready to call the game a forfeit.

After graduating from Southern Utah, Frankie B. took his first coaching job at Milford. After winning a state championship, he moved on to Millard, where he won another state title.

I remember talking him into taking the assistant coaching job at Timpanogos High School five years ago, and before he succeeded Marc McKenney as the head coach, we talked about the pros and cons of being the head coach at Timpanogos. Mainly, we talked about if the school could ever win in football.

Over the years he would call me and talk about their losses; and once in a while, we'd talk about their wins.

Last week when I was going through my phone messages, I came across one from Frankie B.

A soft and quite voice said, "Hey buddy, do me a favor. Talk to your congressman, maybe you can get us home. Just kidding. How are you doing? How is your family? "

It was clear that Frank Bramall wants to come home. He wants to coach his team. He wants to teach his history class. He wants to hold his wife and play with his kids. He wants his life back.

But he must wait. Week after week, month after month.

His National Guard unit (489th) was activated on Dec. 3, 2002. He left home on Jan. 3 and since February has been in Iraq and Kuwait. His unit specializes in plumbing, electrical work and surveying. For the most part he has been out of the fighting, but that does little to reassure his wife, Monica, or his children that he will be safe. Each new day brings another report of another American being ambushed. You don't have to have a gun to be a target. You just have to be American.

It's hard for any of us to imagine how hard it's been for Frank Bramall, or his five children, or his wife.

Frankie B. has sacrificed much more than most of us. After coaching Timpanogos to its best season ever last year, the general consensus was that this year's team should be the best in school history and the first to be a legitimate state title contender.

But he won't be coaching them. It's already been decided that Darren DeGracie, Bramall's assistant, will coach this year's team, since it looks like Bramall won't be coming home any time soon. The best guess is sometime in November, maybe by Thanksgiving.

But that doesn't mean much. He thought he would be home by now. Since he's been gone, he's missed plenty.

"To other people they're little things, but they're not little to us, " Monica says.

His youngest child, Kyler, is 10 months old. He was just three months when Frank left and is about to start walking. Monica wants him to wait until her husband can be there to watch him take his first step.

Frank's response?

"Don't make him wait, you might stunt his athletic growth. "

Just last week, in the middle of the night Monica woke up to the sound of crying. This time it was 4-year-old Kolton.

Through his tears these words came out: "Is dad every going to live with us again? "

Since Frank's been gone, Monica's father has been diagnosed with the same cancer his mother recently died from.

His daughter Kirsten pierced her ears, one of his boys got a new bike. Birthdays have come and gone. The candles have been blown out, but their wish hasn't come true.

Many people around the country have their own Frankie B's, they have a friend, a cousin, a brother or sister who are still gone. For those people, the Fourth of July will be honored 24/7, even if the scouts have taken the flags down from every house in the neighborhood.

For the rest of us, it may take a subtle reminder, like a message on a phone, to realize that celebrating those who have given so much should never take a holiday.
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