Loving July 4th (in a non-political way)

Most of us love July 4^th.  How can we not?  Barbecue, Americana desserts, your choice of beverages, and pyrotechnics.  And if you’re really lucky, spotting some fireflies.  What could be better? 

I have great memories of the 4^th, particularly with my dad.  He was the ultimate fireworks guy. 

I grew up in a tract home in Southern California; houses where about 8-10 feet apart, separated by cinder block walls.  They lined both sides of the street, and there was just enough street for cars to park on either side and two cars to pass down the middle.  When my parents moved in, it was brand new and being built, and the houses were overwhelmingly purchased by young families. Thus, on the 4^th of July, the majority of families were setting-off fireworks up and down the middle of the street.

The fireworks that were legal were the ones that you buy at the stand – fountains, etc.  Not Roman Candles, Sky Rockets, fire crackers nor the smaller versions of the big professional ones.  Nevertheless, my dad had a good supply fire crackers.  I think he picked them up in Tijuana at some point. In the morning, before all the real festivities started, he’d take my sister and I over to the school yard with a couple of tin cans and the firecrackers and did some sort of magic in which he’d light one off and one of the cans would shoot high in the air.  Very impressive when I was in early elementary school.

I remember the year we went to buy fireworks at the stand and, as we were leaving, I found a $10 bill in the dirt.  No one was around to claim it and it was mine to keep.  So I was able to go back and buy an extra $10 worth of fireworks. In those days, my dad only spent about $20 for the whole shebang. Boy, was that exciting.

Once night fell, everyone would start setting of the fireworks filling the street; you really couldn’t drive a car down it.  Of course the fountains were the best.  But somehow I have very distinctive memories of one that we’d nail to a tree and it would spin – creating the most beautiful pinwheel of sparks that would fly out a good four feet.  I don’t think I’ve seen them since, and I miss them.

There was the year that someone shot off a bottle rocket which got stuck in the shingles of our roof.  Now, if you don’t live in California, the state so terribly prone to fire, you need to realize that there is a huge lobby for shake (wood) shingles. They are still legal, and they were on the vast majority of houses; the roofs were basically kindling.  It’s ridiculous.  But during fireworks, you had to keep an eye out.  So when one got stuck between the shingles on our house, there was my dad at 10 pm with a ladder, climbing up on the roof to remove it and douse it with the hose. 

About ten years later the same thing happened to the house next door, but nobody noticed it.  It burned to the ground the next day.  When it started to go up in flames, my mom called my dad’s work and was told, “He’s in a meeting.” I’ve never seen her so assertive; she said, “Get him now! The neighbor’s house is on fire!”  We were about a twenty-minute drive from work, but I swear he was home in 10 minutes, hosing down our roof (remember, houses only 8-10 feet apart). No one was hurt and they rebuilt the house, but it was all very dramatic.

Our family lived on the island of Kwajalein, in the Marshall Islands, in Micronesia from 1976-1980.  It’s a small island that’s a military base. It’s actually Kwajalein Atoll, and Kwajalein Island is the largest island, and all the islands encircle a huge lagoon, one of the largest in the world. And the military being the military, they did a big fireworks show every year. 

A group of guys from one of the contractors would get to shoot off the fireworks from a barge in the lagoon. The good, big, skyrockets.  So our first year on Kwaj was 1976 and they had extra fireworks, and my dad was part of the group shooting them off the barge. They had big stacks of the actual fireworks, and on the other side of the barge were the launchers.  They would take them over one-by-one and shoot them off.  My dad had a great time and all was well.  A wonderful show.

The next year, it was a different group of guys who were not as safety-conscious.  The rocket launchers were right next to the stacks of fireworks. Bad idea. Well, one misfired and sparks landed on the pallet of fireworks and they all started exploding on the barge. Every firework on the barge went off right there in a big pile, almost all of them, as the show had just gotten started.  It was a lot of explosions and it was terrible to watch.  You could see the shadows of men running from it (they were probably less than 50 yds off shore), as well as people jumping into the water.  There were some injuries and the question was, do you jump in the water to avoid getting burned and risk sharks?  Sharks definitely lived in the lagoon, including great whites, but weren’t always around. But there was now also blood in the water. Or do you huddle on the corner of the barge and wait for help?  The fire boat and rescue boat were very quick in coming and there were no major injuries, and no circling sharks, but folks, let’s be clear:  safety is paramount.

Then there was the year we were in Hawaii for the 4^th.  This is because you have to fly through Hawaii to get to Kwajalein.  In Hawaii, everything is legal. Oh boy! Was my dad in heaven.  We had Roman Candles, sky rockets, fountains.  Good stuff.  We asked around:  where is a good place to shoot off fireworks?  The old airport! Anyone could go down and shoot them off. 

We drove down and the place was wild, but we found a place to park. Fireworks were shooting off in all directions (meaning horizontal as well as vertical); whole bricks of firecrackers were being lit and tossed on the ground, bouncing around and ending up under cars. It was mayhem and there was absolutely no regard for safety and it was a little like an active war zone. Plus everyone was drinking or drunk. We were there less than 5 minutes when my dad shooed us back in the car and got us out of there.  We set them off on the beach (outside the condo, fairly isolated) being careful to shoot the Roman Candles over the water and to pickup any debris from the fountains.  Safety first.

When we came back to California, there were some years where our city outlawed fireworks and it was all very dull.  But from my parents’ house you could just barely see the Disneyland fireworks 15 miles away, way off in the distance, hovering about an inch high over the skyline. We weren’t too deprived.

Once we were older, my parents moved into a one-story on the other side of town; my mom always hated the two-story split level.  Anyway, on the other side of the neighborhood in the “better” section, there was some guy who every year must have spent thousands-upon-thousands on fireworks.  There were illegal and just a smaller version of the one that towns set-off – he must have gotten them from Mexico.  From our house, it was a pretty good show.  The police didn’t bother him, because he was safe and they were far more concerned with reckless kids.  And plus, the ones from the stands were legal again. 

Once we moved to Connecticut, my parents would come out to see us.  Some times they would fly, other times they drove in the RV.  Once when the kids were little, they drove out and arrived with my dad carrying a gigantic haul of fireworks he had picked-up enroute in Missouri where, again, almost everything is legal. That was a good year.

And then, as the kids got a little older, it gets really sweet. Coming to California for the 4^th and shooting off fireworks with Grandpa was the best. He was like a kid again, even though he was in his 70’s.  He’d buy tons of fountains, and let the girls help him (safely) light them off.  The cousins would come down and we had tons of sparklers.  It was just wonderful.  Plus, usually the day before or after, we would go down to the beach.

Growing up in Huntington Beach was wonderful.  The beaches were wide and beautiful, even though immensely crowded around summer holidays.  And there were fire rings.  You had to get there pretty early to snag one, and guard it from poachers.  But the sun would set and it would be and the crowds would thin out.  We’d have a fire going, roast hot dogs, sing songs, make s’mores.  The whole deal.  The kids loved it and we’d come home sweaty, smokey, sticky and tired, but immeasurably happy. The girls are in their twenties but I swear, if we were out there, we’d still do the same thing. 

Now that we’re in Connecticut, we can just drive up to New Hampshire and again, get the really good stuff that’s illegal here.  A few years back we were going to a church that had a lot of acreage, a decent parking lot, open fields and it was off the main drag.  Several years we went over there and shot off fireworks (with permission, of course).  We’ve done some in our driveway as well, and that’s were we’ve seen the fireflies.

You don’t get fireflies in Southern California.  It’s all concrete. And while we camped a lot growing up, somehow I don’t remember seeing them.  But here?  It is such a delight to spot them, mid-summer, in the back yard. They are as magical as they sound and are purported to be.

Now, in all of this, I do have one pro-tip:  flares. The kind you are supposed to keep in your car for emergency breakdowns.  Forget the punks, matches, lighters, etc.  The best thing to use to light fireworks is a flare (usually at least two, depending on the duration). You set it on the curb (if concrete or granite, not asphalt) or on a brick.  They stay lit for a long time, and they are easy to grab and hold.  When it gets short, it will just burn out into ash and you can light another.  All very safe, but not for use with sparklers.  The flares are for well-supervised older kids and adults.

I will say, that the Bio Major Daughter living in Montana has grown up to be a big pyrotechnics kind of gal.  Last year she went to a friend-of-a-friend’s for the 4th and was a little horrified. They were about as safety conscious as the folks in Hawaii, and with lots of little kids running around and beer flowing freely.  But my daughter being my daughter, she set a fine safety example and the others took the hint and did a little better with safety and supervising.

So Happy 4^th everyone. Enjoy your barbecues (we’re having ribs), slather your corn-on-the-cob with real butter, eat plenty of chips, and have one of those cakes where you make the flag out of berries.  Enjoy your beverages, be they kid-friendly or adult, and by all means, be safe.