Wow, that happened quickly. The first half of 2023 blurred by and the next thing you know, it’s the last week of June, July arrives on Saturday and this year, we have one of those unfortunate Tuesday Independence Days.
That paints everyone into a corner. First off, there’s a Monday between the weekend and our holiday day off. And worst of all, while there are parades and picnics, the 4th of July shares the honor with New Year’s Eve in that the bigger celebrations are at night, when normal, hard-working Americans need to get up and go to work the next day. I mean, our country’s birthday–isn’t that enough of a reason for Independence Day to be a two-day celebration? You know, like Amazon Prime Day.
How one celebrates the 4th is really a matter of age. Toddlers are amazed at simple sparkers and scared by everything else. In time, they actually hold the sparkler, burn their hands and then they’re afraid of everything.
Then something happens when the determination that you had a good 4th of July is the number of bottle rockets that landed in your yard, or the carnage in the culdesac left by those cool neighbors who went and bought explosives Ukraine only wishes they could get their hands on at the local reservation fireworks stand.
I start thinking about the 4th of July and my mind goes all over the place. For example, like when growing up in Torrance, California, going to the local Black Panther stand and pushing the folks into going as high as $20 for “The Family Assortment.” As we drove home, holding the box and admiring all those marvels inside, it was a Hunter family tradition for dad to utter those famous words, “I don’t know why we don’t just take a $20 bill and light it on fire.” I’ve actually got recorded, as I called dad one year and had him say it on the radio for old times’ sake.
But that $20 box of treasures included such amazing fireworks, that our celebration wouldn’t have been complete without them. Like the Smokey Joe, which simply stood there and made smoke. There were smoke bombs, which did the same thing, but they were round. Oh, yes, there were sparklers and those black snakes that somehow grew and left black marks on the curb that irritated dad. Oh, and the fountains, usually with gigantic or patriotic names, like Vesuvius or, Red, White & Blue, which produced a very anticlimactic 17 seconds of sparks that would soar up to five feet into the sky.
Yes, as much as that pales by comparison to today’s assortment of sleep-deprivers and carnage-makers, that was all the Hunter kids needed to have each of our brains lasered with lasting memories.
Fireworks and close calls go hand in hand, as common sense does its best to try and convince us that fireworks are, indeed, a bad idea. Back in South Dakota one July, during one of our family vacations there, my single-digit aged cousins were able to have packs of firecrackers and light them by themselves. One time, a cousin threw a lit firecracker that exploded near my ear. You probably could have asked me then if I thought fireworks were a bad idea, but I probably would have just said, “What?”
Then there was that neighborhood gathering when an un-named relative of mine lit one of those mortar deals, but as he ran away, it fell over, launching mortors into all the neighbors circled around the culdesac. That no one was injured was a red, white and blue miracle.
Yes, there are plenty of memories of the 4th of July and fireworks throughout my years. But after my half-century mark, it all became less fun. While I personally could sleep through an atomic bomb test explosion (OK, I might wake up for a moment, but I’d fall back asleep), each 4th of July is a battle between the light sleepers and the neighborhood pyro’s who can’t wait to light off the next, even louder one.
I heard a great idea the other day that I really like. If you’re like me and pretty much done with the firework thing, take what you would have spent this year–even half of that–and give it to the local animal shelter to buy food for the critters hoping to find a new home. Having pets or pet-in-laws over the years that didn’t handle those unexplained explosions very well, it seems like a cool thing to do.
Should you break down and have a moment of generosity, here are just a couple of the hard-working shelters in the Puget Sound are that I’m sure could use a couple of bucks. Nothing big, just making the gesture will make a big difference.
The Kitsap County Humane Society (the favorite of my late cousin, Diane)
Any amount, no guilting intended. Just an idea.
Because it’s time to celebrate our country’s 247th birthday. And you know, they say 247 is the new 235.
Let’s do this, Uncle Sam!
Tim Hunter
Tim Hunter's Wacky Blog 