The Fourth meant that usually a week prior Mom, Dad, and I had our first of two annual trips to Grand Forks. The other trip was for Christmas shopping.
We'd all pile in my dad's blue Chevy Silverado and drive out to Star Fireworks. Mom and Dad always gave me a strict budget for my fireworks. And let me tell you, I spent every single nickel!
I first would grab the necessities . . . the fire crackers, usually Black Cats. Then I'd throw in some "lady fingers," which were these really tiny (but very, very powerful) firecrackers. I believe they are now illegal. Then I'd top off the necessities with a few packs of my personal favorites, Black Cat Bottle rockets. I used to love to launch these suckers around the neighborhood and watch them soar up into the sky until the inevitable "pop." Then I'd watch the little red wooden tail drop back to the ground.
I cannot tell you how much time I spent launching those suckers around our old neighborhood in TRF. Of course, some of my older neighbors would strap Matchbox cars to those red wooden tails or even their action figures. There was no way I was going to strap one of my precious GI Joes or Star Wars figures to anything explosive like that though. No way!
Inevitably, we'd get into fire cracker "fights." This mean literally lighting a Black Cat (or if you were daring a small pack of 50 or so) and toss them at your "enemies," which was anyone other than yourself. Danny, Lace, Robbie, Jay, and Gary and I spent more than a few hours in this type of warfare. It's a miracle no one ever lost an eye. But I spent more than my fair share of time holding an ice cup to my finger after I was too lazy in tossing a fire cracker and it went off in my hand.
In fact, I recall one Fourth when my cousin, Melanie, and her then boyfriend (now husband), Robert, were visiting with her parents. We were out in the back yard on our picnic table. We had a mini skirmish, and I actually blew a hole in his shirt with a lady finger!
After getting the necessities, I would move on to some of the smaller extravagant items, like tanks, which looked really, really cool but never ever seemed to work right. I'd usually grab half a dozen of them. Then there were the boats that had tiny wheels on them and were propelled by a fire cracker in the back. There were some of the "jumping jacks," which looked just like regular fire crackers, but these guys jumped up and flew around. Again, looking back, it's a miracle none of us every lost an eye or blew off a finger!
After I had spent a good share of my budget, I then moved on to some of the more extravegant purchases: Roman Candles, large rockets, powerful blocks, and so on. These tended to be more expensive, so I usually only got a couple of each.
As soon as I got home, I spent the next several hours organizing and re-organizing my fireworks. I'd stack them up and then re-order them, all the while imagining what it would be like to finally fire them all off.
That anticipation and re-organizing them was almost as much fun as lighting them off.
Inevitably, I'd be able to convince my mom to let me first off a few Black Cats and bottle rockets off each day prior to the Fourth. I mean for me, the Fourth was all about the big stuff. I didn't really care to waste my Fourth lighting small fireworks. I wanted to blow the big stuff up.
And there was absolutely no use at all in keeping any fireworks after the Fourth. That was ludicrous. That would be like saving unopened Christmas presents until New Years. It made no sense to me at all.
Of course, once the Fourth meant going out to the country (my brother in law's family's dairy farm) since back then fireworks were illegal in Minnesota. Certainly, lighting them off in town was frowned upon.
But that doesn't mean that we didn't ever light any off. We did. We just usually ran like mad to hide after we lit them off.
I can't wait to relive this with Kenz and Cash now as the realize the joy of the Fourth.
One of my favorite Fourth of July memories is captured in this poem,
Perspective
We stand
amid the old tracks
tar baking up from the ties
gravel grinding under our shoes
and tall grass rustling against our knees.
I hoist the
7Up bottle
loaded with
the hissing
Black Cat
heavenward.
These are
the glorious seconds --
the gray fuze hisses orange,
flaking off pieces like a snake’s discarded skin,
heat singes my hand,
as the rocket takes on a life of its own
its tiny red body tears free
the muddy smoke swirls from the green glass
leaving
a taste of
sulfur on the breeze.
Pleased as a
boy can be,
I reach for
the next candidate.
Granny,
standing over me,
shields her
eyes from the sun,
and watches
the tiny rocket
twirl up
and up
and up
and . . .
pop!
With the
punk clenched between my teeth
I have
another hoisted
by the time
the tiny red body
lands in the
grass next to us.
“Don’t you ever enjoy their flight?”
This has
never occurred to me.
So we watch
the next rocket
climb
above rooftops
twisting and turning,
above
highline wires
leaving
a faint gray vapor trail
above the trees
its
red body ascending
up to where the water tower
reaches
then
. . . pop!
“I wonder what it looks like from the rocket’s point of view.”
From that moment – everything is
different.
I see
the immense oaks towering,
the tall pines pointing
our roof and chimney
the flat, gravel covered roof of the
high school
the towering cross on the peak of
the Catholic Church
yards sectioned into neighborhoods
blocks neatly squared off by
streets and alleys.
a tiny boy with his grandmother
both peering up
and growing smaller.
28 Fourth of
Julys have passed since then
and one each
one
I launch at
least one bottle rocket --
the old 7Up
glass bottles are long gone
replaced by
cheap plastic.
But eventually
I became good enough
to simply
hold the rocket by its very tail.
Knowing the
precise time -
a blend of tension in the body
heat from the ignition
and 28 Fourth of Julys worth of
timing
to let the
rocket go free.
And I watch
it go up and up and up
and I see
the man grow smaller
and smaller
and smaller.
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