My kids seem to have been stressing about our plans this evening since we got here. “Where we’re we going to watch fireworks?!”
Confession. I really don’t care about fireworks on the 4th or at any other time for that matter. As a kid I remember being very afraid of them. They were loud and the flash of light was too startling. I would sit with my thumbs in my ears living my fingers free to cover my eyes or bury my face into the nearest adult’s shoulder.
Once when I was 10 or so, my dad was setting off fireworks in our cul du sac. I don’t really remember exactly how it happened. Maybe a bottle rocket or roman candle went astray. But something lit the whole bag of fireworks up like a war zone explosion. We were running and jumping over unmanned bottle rockets. All of us girls around the cul du sac screaming in hysterics.
And after living in house in San Antonio just next to the city limits and the firework stands, lets just say I have gained no fondness for the celebration ritual. I mention war zone earlier. I misspoke. This was like Everyman for himself. After that first experience we vowed never to be at our house over a fireworks event.