Light It And Run

It's the beginning of July when a young (or young thinking) man's thoughts turn to flags, parades, watermelon and fireworks. I am really looking forward to the 4th, not only for the chance to drop a little patriotism on some fools but for the opportunity to exercise my God given right to blow up things from China. truth be told, I don't know how much detonation I'll be doing on my gimpy leg, but if I'm forced to be a lowly spectator rather than an active munitions expert, I'll enjoy myself just as much.

Growing up, we were never allowed to partake in black market pyrotechnics. We were limited to "snakes", the fireworks equivalent of ...come on, you can't even put "snakes" in the fireworks category, and sparklers. Wow, how exciting. Maybe it was because my parents were law abiding citizens, or maybe it was because my brothers and I were not very coordinated and couldn't grasp the concept of throwing the M80 after it was lit rather than watching the pretty flame burn down the wick. Whatever the reason, my childhood was spent watching fireworks from a distance. I would "ooh and aah" like everyone else, but I was filled with the desire to be the guy with the burning punk lighting the fuse. After "Wife" and I got married we lived in a house a block from the Indiana border. Fireworks are legal in Indiana, so from mid June through early July, the area was as lawless as any border town on the Texas/Mexico border. Cars with blacked out windows and covered headlights would continuously make runs across the invisible line and try to out run Johnny Law back to the Land of Lincoln with all types of gun powder filled contraband. The lure of illicit explosives proved too much for me and on several occasions I channeled my inner moonshiner, put a false bottom in the trunk of my nondescript sedan, popped in the 8 track of Smokey and the Bandit and made (with apologies to Taco Bell) a run for the border.

A wondrous world of destruction awaits anyone who enters the land of legal fireworks. All sizes and styles of explosives are available for purchase. The mysteries of the Far East are collected under a rented tent in an abandoned grocery store parking lot. The only limits are your imagination and pocket book. Most guys, giving into age old stereotypes head right for the huge mortars in the long tubes. Dude, you're already blowing stuff up, give the Freudian imagery a rest. I would spend hours mixing and matching fireworks trying to get the most bang for my buck. (pun intended) After securing the loot, I would embark on my journey home, staying off the main roads, traveling through alleys and drainage ditches to avoid "the man".

This year I'll have to be satisfied with watching our town's fireworks display and enjoying the inevitable explosions of my neighbor's illegal collection. I'm torn. I want to feel that rush again of buying and transporting illegal fireworks, but I also don't want to set a bad example for "Daughter". I'll just sell it as one man standing up against an oppressive government hell bent on destroying our good times. That'll work. Be careful. Don't look down the tube of a "dud". Later...Brian