One 4th of July, our family had our own modest fireworks display. While usually it would be the kid that would be begging the parents for bottle rockets and sparklers to set off, I was a fearful kid. So it was Mom that thought it would be fun to shoot off some fireworks on the 4th of July. I remember the shack that housed the fireworks for sale. It was a sensory overload with the explosion of bright colors and the names of the various fireworks, which might as well have been written in a foreign language.
Of course, Mom being Mom, she chose the most low-key fireworks available.
After dinner, Mom, Dad and I gathered on our patio, which was a tiny slab of concrete surrounded by a wooden fence. Dad soon departed, as Mom didn’t want him smoking around the other explosives. Dad slunk off to the carport area, his other prime smoking area.
We got a couple of things that were supposed to twirl around on the ground, but they turned out to be duds.
I do remember the sparklers, which I held as far away from me as possible, afraid that I was going to set myself on fire. I remember the soft hiss the sparklers made, and how they lit up our faces.
Then the fun was over, and all was dark again. Later, we all gathered again on the patio, to look into the sky and see the professional fireworks display that was taking place a few miles away. The thudding pops were followed by a rain of color exploding in the sky. We stood together as a family, in awe and glee over the spirited display.