Fireworks

My husband and I were discussing fireworks the other day… because it was the Fourth of July and we, once again, were not going Downtown to see them. We kept asking ourselves “why?”

I recall going to the baseball park in my hometown of Walton, IN every year as a child. They used to claim that they had the biggest fireworks display in the state, but I have the sneaking suspicion that all small towns say that. I am still not sure how this is measured. Regardless of how big they actually were, it was where everyone went on the 4th.

[Now is a good time to point out that I am a firm believer that the interest in a fireworks show is not solely related to a desire for exhibiting one’s patriotism. I really think that people love the thrill of fire in the sky. Fireworks, which were probably invented on accident in some guy’s kitchen, allow ordinary people to feel powerful, get close to fire, and “ooh” and “aah” at pretty shiny things that are only really legal one time per year unless you live in the outback. Basically, we want spectacle, and it can’t happen in any ordinary situation or in any ordinary place. Fireworks are extraordinary.]

Anyway, back to my memory…

When I was 10 or 11, our town decided to set the fireworks to music. At the time, I figured this was a new trick that only my town did – only to find out later that many small towns in Indiana were doing the very same thing. But it was amazing. When the finale was exploding overhead, I heard the National Anthem play over the field’s loud speakers. I remember lying on my parents’ car, staring up at the sky. One firework was a brilliant white “cage” falling down on all sides of the park. For a moment, it looked solid and looked like it would touch ground somewhere (much like a rainbow appears to) and would be there forever… then it disappeared. I’ll never forget what that looked like.

Further back in my memory is the first time I played with sparklers. It was during a party at my house. My mom worked in the Air Force and her entire division came out to our house in the country for a pig roast and fireworks. All of the children at the party got to play with sparklers before everything else began. We would draw pictures in the air that disappeared as fast as we drew them… but we were fascinated. It never seemed like there were enough sparklers to fulfill our wants.

Nowadays I watch the fireworks in the distance as I am driving home or somewhere else. I think that it has been at least three years since I last participated in the festivities.

I mentioned this to one of the security guards at the museum. He said “Got kids?” to which I replied that I had a 13-yr-old stepdaughter that isn’t usually with us on the 4th. He said “When you have kids, you will remember why you used to go.”

So, that got me thinking. Do children have an easier time suspending disbelief in events like this? They don’t hold judgment… they just enjoy it. Every year. Adults have to add live rock bands, exotic locations, beer, food and fellowship to enjoy it. I think that I suddenly found myself envying children, who are so easily pleased or affected by the simplest form of spectacle – flashing lights against a dark sky.

I told my husband that we need to start trying again to enjoy the things that used to be extraordinary but have somehow become ordinary to us.


Photo Credit: www.eduplace.com/.../1-2/narrative.html