Wonderful story. As a kid growing up, I was obsessed with certain fireworks, not because of their capability, but because they names were so evocative. Romans Candles, Bottle Rockets, M-80s, Cherry Bombs. I remember a friend of mind came back from South Carolina and in addition to a trunk of fireworks he had a fireworks catalog that he gifted me. I would spend hours thumbing through it looking at the names and packages.
The brothers across the street from me each got their own family pack. It was always so fun to yell for which one they would pop next. Fireworks are one of the first rites of passage, things we were allowed to do on our own that was a little dangerous. There was always something very similar to me about going to the fireworks stand and walking up to the ice cream man's van -- just this sea of options and knowing you could only afford one or two and hoping you pick the right one.
Perfect final line, Rob! OMG, the stuff we were allowed to get up to back then! I had fireworks trauma when I was very young due to a neighbour's roof catching fire and my dad setting fire to a tree with a sparkler (I mean, really, dad, but doing the math, he was probably only in his late 20s then). I can't imagine even holding a Roman Candle!
Did you every see those stupid Burning School Houses? My mom brought those home once, and they were the lamest fireworks ever.
When I was a kid we mostly got "snakes" (those little black pucks you could burn that would expand), paper tanks that would scoot a few feet across the sidewalk before exploding anticlimactically, and sparklers. When done we would go across the street and watch the neighbors light sticks of dynamite and medium-sized bombs. It's a miracle everyone graduated from our neighborhood with all their fingers and eyeballs.
Right? I don’t remember anyone losing an eye or fingers but that was always the threat. Oh gawd, snakes, I’d forgotten all about them! Pretty lame, and they left burn marks on our front walk.
Wonderful story. As a kid growing up, I was obsessed with certain fireworks, not because of their capability, but because they names were so evocative. Romans Candles, Bottle Rockets, M-80s, Cherry Bombs. I remember a friend of mind came back from South Carolina and in addition to a trunk of fireworks he had a fireworks catalog that he gifted me. I would spend hours thumbing through it looking at the names and packages.
The brothers across the street from me each got their own family pack. It was always so fun to yell for which one they would pop next. Fireworks are one of the first rites of passage, things we were allowed to do on our own that was a little dangerous. There was always something very similar to me about going to the fireworks stand and walking up to the ice cream man's van -- just this sea of options and knowing you could only afford one or two and hoping you pick the right one.
Perfect final line, Rob! OMG, the stuff we were allowed to get up to back then! I had fireworks trauma when I was very young due to a neighbour's roof catching fire and my dad setting fire to a tree with a sparkler (I mean, really, dad, but doing the math, he was probably only in his late 20s then). I can't imagine even holding a Roman Candle!
Did you every see those stupid Burning School Houses? My mom brought those home once, and they were the lamest fireworks ever.
When I was a kid we mostly got "snakes" (those little black pucks you could burn that would expand), paper tanks that would scoot a few feet across the sidewalk before exploding anticlimactically, and sparklers. When done we would go across the street and watch the neighbors light sticks of dynamite and medium-sized bombs. It's a miracle everyone graduated from our neighborhood with all their fingers and eyeballs.
Right? I don’t remember anyone losing an eye or fingers but that was always the threat. Oh gawd, snakes, I’d forgotten all about them! Pretty lame, and they left burn marks on our front walk.