For someone that grew up in Southern California in the 70s and 80s, fireworks on the 4th of July were one of the best things about summer. But, as the years went on, “safe and sane” turned into “illegal.” The only way to get the pyrotechnic fix was to watch some adults blow things up and shoot sparks in the sky. What fun was that?
Needless to say, as I grew up, married and had children, I was left to paint a picture of the “good old days” for my son, who is now almost 12. He tried to imagine actually participating in the fun, but figured it was just a story of dad’s bygone days. Then, one year, the family traveled to my father-in-law’s place in Arkansas for 4th of July week. Oh yeah, you can imagine the pictures that place conjures up in the mind of a Southern California kid – and his dad didn’t help mitigate that. But, upon arrival, the pop-in-law’s place was pretty darn cool. A huge house on the lake with a dock, boat, lots of land and plenty of “wildlife” made the days seem, well, fun! (Having never seen fireflies, my son and I were transfixed the first evening.)
Then it came time to buy fireworks. Unaccustomed to the “ways” of the south, we walked into a large tent and I suddenly was 12 years old, too. Everything I could have ever wanted was there. Huge cones, smoke bombs, elaborate roman candles and sparkers, ground bloom flowers, boxes and bags and “mystery” fireworks…and then there were THE fireworks. Woa Nelly! Disneyland-style, made for plywood platforms and shuttle tubes! I couldn’t believe my eyes. My father-in-law told me the neighborhood pitches in and “buys a few” for the evening’s show.” Arkansas was looking pretty cool about then I thought as I hovered over the M-80s placed as “impulse buys” at the checkout table. Pretty cool indeed.
That night my son and I shot things off, blew things up and generally lit up every “illegal” thing we could find. In Arkansas, the piccolo petes and ground bloom flowers are MADE to blow up at the end of their performance – no pliers pinching required, as in the old days. Fire crackers are for “after everything else” and sparklers are for the “kids.” Then we sat back and watched the dueling neighbors launch missiles into the air in a display that rivaled the best Big A Friday night show. And yes, some went sideways and a couple blew up overhead and under chairs, but that is something you just can’t get at Disneyland! The smoke was so thick, you couldn’t see anything except the explosions above. You just heard the “thump” of the launch silo and then looked to the sky where multi-colored explosions were followed by applause and whistles.
The next morning, the neighborhood was outside, cleaning up, happy nothing caught on fire and enjoying a morning Coors.
There is nothing like a 4th of July in Arkansas. I am sure my son will take his kids there one day too. |
