Well the Fourth of July is over, and waking up the next day allowed me a few minutes of reflection on the subject of fireworks.

This yearOs setting for the big show was not as ideal as past years. It was hot and dry, with a slight breeze blowing, likely enough to concern local fire officials. The Fourth in our household is somewhat of a tradition now. We start the day in Carnation at the festival, with me – camera in hand – snapping pictures for the newspaper. This year, the weather was beautiful, and parade was one of the biggest (and longest) ever.

It may have looked as though I was snapping pictures as the parade went by, but in my mind, as is likely the case with most guys, I was thinking about the plan for the night of fireworks. Yes, we had made the trip to the fireworks stand. James, following in his fatherOs footsteps, had contributed to the fireworks fund with his own hard-earned money.

So as horses and trucks and drill teams marched by, I thought of creative ways to light fireworks – which in reality means how to blow things up. Why is it that grown men get giddy when they peel the wrapping off a box of fireworks? Instantly things become strictly regimented and a routine develops: Open the box, set everything out in order of lighting, light the punks and fire away. Guests and neighbors “ooohhh” and “aaaaahhh” as the displays go off.

But that giddiness definitely affects motor control. My fingers tend not to work as well with a lighter. So I get the small butane extended lighter, which inevitably is out of butane. Eventually, we go back to the punk but, you know, it’s hard to see the wick in the dark.

The Fourth is also a passing of tradition from parents to children. James was doing his part, with some guidance, to light a few of the displays, although we do have to work a little on his sense of direction. (The crowd was mobile).

Lynnae was getting into the act, as well, lighting the smaller fountains and handing sparklers to some of the younger kids.

This year we had some new neighbors, which is always a touch-and-go kind of process. I think it made them a little nervous when they saw us watering down the yard and roofs of the houses. Fourteen hoses were strewn about the cul-de-sac as a preventive measure, which to me is an indication of every man’s desire to be a fireman for a few minutes.

It would be interesting to walk through a neighborhood on the Fourth and watch everyone else’s fireworks. I would guess that it’s the same everywhere: Parents yelling at their kids to stand back, the crowd echoing their enthusiasm and families enjoying each other’s company.

As I type this editorial with a few burns on my fingers and thinking of next year’s display, it’s also important to reflect on our heritage and the birth of our great nation, subjects sometimes lost in the sulfur smoke of a neighborhood show.

I hope you all had a great Fourth!