One of the many reasons we didn’t go to camp this last week is that the Fourth of July celebration is probably one of our favorite holidays to celebrate with Toby. Toby doesn’t have a lot of time to hang out with us so we take the time he does have very seriously. And by seriously, I mean we like to blow stuff up.
You see, Toby really likes fireworks. Unfortunately because of where we live (and our pansy-ass city council), fireworks are not allowed. We’ve tried the mentos and diet coke bombs and exploding confetti but nothing is as fun as real fire and loud noise. So this year we had a plan.
First we had a little token barbeque with my brother, CC and my niece, Superchic. We figured we might as well get together since the other half of the family is off having fun at camp without us. They can celebrate with campfires and roasted marshmallows, lakeside views and mountain air but we’ll celebrate with margaritas, hotdogs and whatever we can find on television that is suitable for all ages—aka the National Geographic Channel. It wasn’t bad. We didn’t even suffer from any mosquito bites.
Then we all piled in our cars and drove over to a friend’s house who lives in the burbs of a nearby town that does allow fireworks. Toby had bought several bags of legal explosives the day before and put on quite a show for us. The kids seemed to be into it. They were a little frightened by the loud pops and bright flashes but a little fear makes it more fun I think.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! My eyes!!!”
(Is Superchic crossing her fingers, hoping not to die?)
Our little celebration got me to thinking…I’ve celebrated America’s birthday in so many ways over the years. I’ve hiked up hills to watch public shows from three towns overlap. I’ve made-out with boyfriends at tailgate parties on the Indian Reservation, I’ve watched crazy street scenes with hoodlums lighting off illegal fireworks, I’ve watched parades in Disneyland and even made champagne toasts on the patios of the mega-rich over-looking the ocean…I’ve pretty much done it all.
But I have to say that sitting on a curb with my kid, watching her Dad light stuff off is something I cherish. We might not have had the big mega explosions or the pretty lake reflections but we do have each other and the beginning of a tradition that will probably be a big deal in Bug’s life. Sure, other kids have great memories of fishing or playing baseball with their Dads but Bug is going to have great memories of her Dad blowing stuff up.
God Bless America.