It's a Blast!

The Fourth has come and gone, so I’ll keep this short.

We could talk about the times where one or several guests in the pool (not me, it could never be me) had one too many drinks. I could talk about the time on the front porch when we spelled out certain words with sparklers using a delayed shutter speed on a camera. Or we could talk about the many patriotic holidays when Mike Christy blew up half the inlet where he and his family live.

This will be somewhat more quaint, however. Somewhat fitting for the first Fourth of July after the plague known as COVID, amirite?

Kristen’s dad had piled us in the car and taken us about an hour out of town to a ramshackle trailer. Ed said, “Get whatever you want.” And we did.

I will be honest. I don’t recall the exact fireworks which we bought.

Could we have bought the “Evil, Wicked, Mean and Nasty” firework? It might have happened.

Might we have purchased the “Nuclear Sunrise” firework? It’s quite possible.

Would we have procured the “Here Comes Da Judge” firework? It is, of course, plausible.

Come the Fourth, we were ready to ignite a few.

We started lite – no pun intended. A few poppers and snakes. A few parachutes and smoke bombs. A few fountains and spinners.

But then, we moved into bottle rockets. Then onto roman candles. But, we would soon get into the larger artillery.

My dad, my very tall friend, Joe, and a couple others would take turns starting the Mission: Impossible-like fuse that would quickly lead to a shell howling up into the air and bursting in the sky.

Maybe you’ve gotten ahead of me. Maybe you know where this is going.

You put enough (“stupid”) men together we will find a way to make everything bigger and better – proverbially speaking.

We discussed, at a too-quick-click, that we would line up five tubes in a row, setting off a sequence of fiery fury. Pop, pop, pop, pop… The first four went up into the air without a hitch.

The fifth… not so much.

The fifth tube tipped over at the last second and shot toward the man what started it all. It growled across the ground bouncing this way and that. Before most of us knew what was happening, it chased up Joe’s jean clad leg, up his back and into the air, exploding just ten or twenty feet above us.

Joe stood there confused and scared. All six-foot four vertical inches of him. On the left side of his head, a small bald spot was now present and smoking. Did he almost need serious medical care? Maybe. But what we do know is that if he ever does decide to participate in any incendiary activities, he’ll run just a little faster and require shelter as if it were the nuclear test from the Incredible Hulk.

Things have changed in the years since this… enlightening (?) experience.

We miss spending the holidays with Ed – his wartime past has caught up with him and he’s currently bedbound. We have missed the flash-bang (near Disney-esque) epic firework displays at the Christy’s. We miss all of our friends and family that can’t be with us in 2020/2021 and beyond.

But in our hearts and minds, we celebrate with those that we love, even if they aren’t there physically to celebrate with us. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

We hope with all of our heart you had a safe and happy Fourth this past weekend. And moving forward let’s all make sure that we stick together in such tumultuous times. As Gerald Stanley Lee once said, “America is a tune. It must be sung together.”

While fireworks, burgers, and red, white and blue shirts are optional, harmony is a must.

~ Brandon L. Joyner