There’s a lot I love about the Fourth of July. I love how the day seems to drag on a little more slowly than the rest of the summer days. I love how bright and sunshiny it usually is on the 4th. I love having a day off work to spend at home with family in the middle of the week.
As a kid I loved that it marked the middle of summer. I remember riding my bike to the Pantry store to buy sparklers and Snap-Pops. I loved how my dad would line up sparklers by putting the metal sticks in the ground and then lighting them all in a row.
And now that I’m a dad in a neighborhood with lots of kids around us, I really love the tradition we’ve started on our street to have a block party on the evening of July 4th.
What I don’t love is the fear of reliving the memory in my mind of running for my life as an hour’s worth of fireworks went off at one time just a few feet away from me. That was a couple years ago at Kelly’s uncle Joe’s field during a family reunion. This was early in our marriage and I really wanted to impress Kelly’s side of the family so I agreed to help Uncle Joe light those fireworks even though, to be honest, I was a little afraid. These were not the bottle rocket type fireworks I was used to. Uncle Joe bought the big stuff. The big mortar shells that come with special tubes and blow up almost as big as the fireworks at the river kind of stuff.
We set them on Uncle Joe’s brand new flatbed trailer, divided them up equally, and lined them up so I could light half on my side while he alternated lighting the other half on the opposite side. We synchronized so there was a pretty constant display of explosions in the sky.
Then it happened! One of the tubes fell over as Joe lit the wick. He yelled to caution me, and I watched as the mortar shell slowly rolled out of the tube and exploded right in between both lines of fireworks, which consequently ignited the rest of the fireworks on the trailer.
I remember it as an exciting 10 seconds. Joe remembers it as a very expensive 10 seconds.
The view from the porch was apparently two grown men running for dear life across the field in strobe-like flashes of light exploding all around us. The view over my shoulder as fast as my feet would carry me was watching the craziest fury of light I’ve ever seen. It was like Thunder Over Louisville two feet off the ground.
Live and learn, right?
Our boys were too young to remember that night, but they’ve heard the story lots of times. Like my grandad’s fishing stories, each retelling adds a little more exaggeration.
I bring that story up because that image flashed through my mind again last July 4th as my neighbor walked across the street to our neighborhood block party with an armful of aerial mortar shells. I was instinctively hoping and praying we didn’t have a repeat performance of the ol’ trailer incident here in my front yard in the middle of our neighborhood.
Our July 4th block party started very simply and organically, and it really is something to be proud of, especially in today’s society where neighbors hanging out with neighbors is less and less common. That first year, when our boys were probably 4 and 6, a friend of mine gave me two of those big mortar shells to light off. Which I did. But I took extra special precaution. I nailed the tube to a square piece of wood so it couldn’t fall over, pulled the garden house out just in case, made sure no cars were coming, and went for it.
We thought that was the end of our little five-minute family firework show. Next thing I know, our neighbors down the street brought their brown bag full of fireworks, plopped down in lawn chairs, and said, “Hey, will you light off ours too?”
So the next year, our two families gathered again, but this time right when we were lighting the first roman candles off, our neighbors across the street came over and brought their fireworks, too. By the next year we had invited three more families to join us and organized it into a swim party at one house, a big potluck meal at another house, and then fireworks at our house.
It works out great. Last year, one of the moms who grew up in the country said while we were eating, “You know, this is the kind of stuff I wished I could have done when I was growing up.” Another mom said, “Our kids play together, but it’s nice that we all get together like this.”
I absolutely love it. Except that I’ve become the official firework lighter and somehow the firepower increases every year, which means my anxiety level increases too. So I’m going to have to lay down some firework ground rules this year and downsize a bit.
I just hope the kids aren’t disappointed. But to compensate for that, we’re going bigger on glow sticks this year. We found a light up driveway bowling set and light up ring toss game for after fireworks.
Because really, the kids get bored after about 15 minutes of fireworks anyway. At least after the initial sparkler round when we make them sit down while we light the big stuff. Being together is what they remember the most anyway.
I don’t think neighbors these days mean to be disconnected compared to generations past. It’s not intentional. It’s just that people are busy. You wave as you drive by. You might stop and talk a minute if you’re out in the yard when someone is out for a walk. But July 4th for our street is the one time each year we all get together to spend a couple hours catching up, share a meal, enjoy each other’s company, and celebrate the American spirit with lots of red, white, and blue cupcakes.
So this year, the wow factor will not be the explosions in the sky. The wow factor will be that we actually make time to spend with neighbors and keep this tradition going.
Enjoy your 4th! And may it be filled with family, friends and neighbors.