At first I thought they were gun shots, up the street a few blocks but near enough. Then I figured, the end of June, fireworks, Independence Day, it’s that time. Several weeks ago I heard that fireworks were in short supply and would be very expensive this year. Both manufacture and shipping from China have been interrupted by Covid yet our appetite for rocket’s red glare has not. Large pyrotechnic companies may still have their inventory from last year’s Covid-cancelations. Their big shows might not be in jeopardy but for the amateur fire cracker & bottle rocketeer it’s a different story. A typical $250 package of driveway zingers will cost three times that if they can be found at all. That’s what I heard.
Last night all I heard was a bang, followed a few minutes later by bang-bang, not smoking a whole package in one stroke like Chinese new year. The locals were probably saving it for the 4th. I remember blowing stuff up, exciting but I didn’t need my mom’s caution to know it was dangerous. My big brother set our barn ablaze with firecrackers and my little brother got second and third degree burns from a roman candle malfunction, all while my parents were giving him directions on how to hold it safely. A neighbor up the road, two years older than me, was able to get his hands on a case of dynamite (I was 12). He included me I think to show off and as a back up should he screw up. He assembled the crude devices, did all of the placement and detonation. I was a sidekick and that was excitment enough.
Deep in the woods with nobody near, we dug under small (15-ft) trees, planted the explosive and launched trees like NASA rockets. They went straight up a few feet before tilting off to one side and toppling back down with roots still smoking. We found another tree, I was good for that, and we did it again. A year later he did screw up making pipe bombs in his garage, lost the ends of two fingers, took glass chards in his legs and one through his glans (tip of his penis). Summertime with no school they, his family, kept it quiet. In school that fall I had my friends ask if they could see his scar, his other scar. He played dumb but between us I thought it was funny, he didn’t. After that, I don’t know if I was overcome with a case of sanity or just moved on to something new but blowing things up lost its appeal. Fireworks, even at that young, foolish age, (Flash-bang and it’s over. The thrill only lasted a few seconds but my dollar was gone for ever.) I still echo that sentiment; must have been a good lesson.
When I watch fireworks displays now it’s for the crescendo at the end. The show begins with the far away ‘ka-thump’ at the launch tube, watching the sparks trail up into a dark sky, the pop at the top and surprise, maybe it’s whistling, silver swirlies or a thousand green and red starbursts but even that wears thin. If every batter hit a home run then baseball would be as exciting as watching a dog scratch. Still, I must admit the big finale at the end does get your attention, all that pressure on your chest, cover your ears and it still hurts. But the explosions go off at altitude, far up away from people. I cower under that barrage, identifying with cities bombed in World War 2 just to destroy public morale, London, England first and then Germany in retaliation. Churchill was really pissed and he wasn’t about to forget. He wanted all patriotic, Hitler loving Germans to experience that deadly insult. So in retribution, residential cities of Hamburg and Dresden were fire-bombed into rubble heaps. Casualties, English or German it didn’t matter. They added up by the tens of thousands, a steep price for non combatants born under one flag or another.
Uncle Sam’s happy birthday will unfold here in a day or two with fireworks, patriotic speeches and parades. For the most part they have morphed into self indulgent displays of nationalistic ego and appetite. Nationalism and patriotism are not the same. One is about military/economic dominance while the other is about love of country. I think the best thing that can happen is for families to hang out together and celebrate each other. Enough; I am not going to preach. I wish the flag, the myth, the fact and the fiction, I wish them all a happy birthday. Best of all, most working people get paid for not going to work.
Last night all I heard was a bang, followed a few minutes later by bang-bang, not smoking a whole package in one stroke like Chinese new year. The locals were probably saving it for the 4th. I remember blowing stuff up, exciting but I didn’t need my mom’s caution to know it was dangerous. My big brother set our barn ablaze with firecrackers and my little brother got second and third degree burns from a roman candle malfunction, all while my parents were giving him directions on how to hold it safely. A neighbor up the road, two years older than me, was able to get his hands on a case of dynamite (I was 12). He included me I think to show off and as a back up should he screw up. He assembled the crude devices, did all of the placement and detonation. I was a sidekick and that was excitment enough.
Deep in the woods with nobody near, we dug under small (15-ft) trees, planted the explosive and launched trees like NASA rockets. They went straight up a few feet before tilting off to one side and toppling back down with roots still smoking. We found another tree, I was good for that, and we did it again. A year later he did screw up making pipe bombs in his garage, lost the ends of two fingers, took glass chards in his legs and one through his glans (tip of his penis). Summertime with no school they, his family, kept it quiet. In school that fall I had my friends ask if they could see his scar, his other scar. He played dumb but between us I thought it was funny, he didn’t. After that, I don’t know if I was overcome with a case of sanity or just moved on to something new but blowing things up lost its appeal. Fireworks, even at that young, foolish age, (Flash-bang and it’s over. The thrill only lasted a few seconds but my dollar was gone for ever.) I still echo that sentiment; must have been a good lesson.
When I watch fireworks displays now it’s for the crescendo at the end. The show begins with the far away ‘ka-thump’ at the launch tube, watching the sparks trail up into a dark sky, the pop at the top and surprise, maybe it’s whistling, silver swirlies or a thousand green and red starbursts but even that wears thin. If every batter hit a home run then baseball would be as exciting as watching a dog scratch. Still, I must admit the big finale at the end does get your attention, all that pressure on your chest, cover your ears and it still hurts. But the explosions go off at altitude, far up away from people. I cower under that barrage, identifying with cities bombed in World War 2 just to destroy public morale, London, England first and then Germany in retaliation. Churchill was really pissed and he wasn’t about to forget. He wanted all patriotic, Hitler loving Germans to experience that deadly insult. So in retribution, residential cities of Hamburg and Dresden were fire-bombed into rubble heaps. Casualties, English or German it didn’t matter. They added up by the tens of thousands, a steep price for non combatants born under one flag or another.
Uncle Sam’s happy birthday will unfold here in a day or two with fireworks, patriotic speeches and parades. For the most part they have morphed into self indulgent displays of nationalistic ego and appetite. Nationalism and patriotism are not the same. One is about military/economic dominance while the other is about love of country. I think the best thing that can happen is for families to hang out together and celebrate each other. Enough; I am not going to preach. I wish the flag, the myth, the fact and the fiction, I wish them all a happy birthday. Best of all, most working people get paid for not going to work.
No comments:
Post a Comment