THE FOURTH

There is nothing that compares to the smells, the sounds, and the lights of a good fireworks show. This is what the 4^th of July means to me. Oh yeah, and all that patriotic stuff is pretty good too. I always get a tear in my eye when the Star-Spangled Banner is played.

When I was a kid, we always went to the fireworks show, but my dad would complain and moan. He hated the traffic. At the time, we lived in Fort Wayne Indiana. The show at the Coliseum was spectacular, but I think the whole city showed up. Parking wasn’t a problem, because they had a huge lot, but getting out was. It would take us hours to get home. Dad would grumble and moan the whole time. To this day, I would rather wait around for the lot to clear after a show than rush out and get stuck in the traffic. I have never really understood the people who leave early. I mean what’s the point of going if you miss the end?

My most memorable 4^th was the year we went to visit my family who lived at the time in the high New Mexican desert. They had bought tons of fireworks, and of course, it was just our family and the rattlesnakes. If I remember correctly we had a big cookout in a fire pit and then shot off a ton of bottle rockets and shells. I think that was the year I fell going down the path to the backyard and put a prickly pear cactus through the palm of my hand. I can remember sitting there with my hand in a bowl of water while my uncle picked out the needles. Ahh, the memories.

This year, we decided to try the fireworks show with our 14-month-old son. For the first time, we would expose him to a timeless American tradition. Last year, he was only 3 months old, and we thought it might be a bit much for him.

The only problem is that the shows around here all start around 10 pm. Way past the little guys bedtime. But it worked out okay. I put him down for a “nap” about six, when I woke him up to leave he looked very confused.

Luckily, the local fireworks where held within walking distance of our house. We loaded the stroller full of bug spray, flashlights, and picnic blankets and made our way to the local park. We felt a little smug about the fact we didn’t have to deal with traffic. The city lot near there isn’t very big, and people were parking all the way up the street by our house, about a half-mile away from the park. It would have been pointless to drive anyway.

The scent of the holiday filled the park air. Pizza, hot dogs, and funnel cake filled the air with a heady smell. Vendors sold glow in the dark necklaces and light sticks. Kids raced by, beating each other with bats. My son was wide-eyed, staring at the mass of humanity.

They had a pretty good cover band. They played some Chicago covers and a few bluesy numbers. Our son was dancing and clapping along with the music. I was amazed that he was getting so into it. The stage was far away, as we had chosen to sit near the back so we could make a quick getaway if the boy got upset.

When the fireworks started, I braced my self for wails of fear. However, he just grabbed a handful of my shirt, and a handful of dad’s shirt, and stared wide-eyed and open mouthed at the display. I know he was a little confused, but he seemed to enjoy it.

No, it wasn’t the biggest show I’ve ever seen. In fact, it was a little tame and short, but it was perfect for the little guy. It was over in 15 minutes. We held our hands over his ears for the finale, because it was extra loud. But he loved it. What was the best part of the night? He went right to sleep as soon as we got home.