My parents came back from vacation yesterday and the only thing on my dad's mind: buy fireworks.
"Dad," I said. "You can get them at Wal-Mart."
"Not if you want the really good ones," he insisted. "You gotta go to the tent." Recently, white tents have popped up, mushroom-like, in parking lots and vacant fields all over the city, with names like Big Daddy Fireworks and an ever-present stream of customers coming in and going out, their arms filled with explosives. On the way back from the airport he pulled over to the first tent he saw, and left my mom and me in the car talking about Pride & Prejudice while he browsed for pyrotechnics. He came back with a giant white box called "The King." "I got a variety," he said. "I can't tell what all that stuff in there is."
Tonight he donned safety glasses and a headlamp (where he got it from, I have no idea) and lit about a dozen fireworks out in the cul-de-sac. My mom and I observed from a safe distance, holding on to our lame sparklers while my dad lit the big stuff and then ran for cover. He was like a little kid again and I can't say it wasn't the most fun I've had on a Fourth of July in a long time, watching him kneel down to light the fuses and then tear back toward the house, his headlamp bobbing while bright pinwheels sparked behind him. Some neighbors down the street were lighting fireworks too, big green ones that whistled into the air and sprouted like giant palms. A couple houses down, a bunch of kids and adults spilled out onto their porch and watched my dad work his incendiary magic, cheering at even the dinky little ones and letting out a disappointed "Awwwwww" when my dad announced the last one.
Afterward we doused the cardboard containers, just in case, and then swept them all into the trashbin. We used all the fireworks he'd bought, except for the "really big ones," he said, that we couldn't light because there were "too many houses." The law student in me let out a big sigh when he decided not to go for the gusto. The kid in me still wants to see those suckers explode. Maybe next year.
Happy fourth, everyone.
1 comment:
Sounds like fun. Ah, the memories...
Fireworks have been illegal in my part of town for a good number of years (except the government-sanctioned shows). I only got to catch a glimpse of the fun from a few sporadic fireworks lit by unknown law-breakers from may blocks away.
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