"Hey," yelled my neighbor Bryce from his deck at his house across the street. "How long have you had those fireworks?"
It was a fair question. Our "starters" were not so impressive (as with any fireworks display, it's got to build...). You see, entire classes of fireworks are legal this year that were previously illegal in our conservative state. We--true to form--did not purchase these fireworks, for several reasons--the possibility of engulfing the entire mountain in flames being one of them.
So, we picked up our stash from friends selling the pyrotechnics to raise money for their school and after a great dinner (and ice cream, Bryers...yum...), we all rambled outside when it became dark enough.
While what sounded like bombs burst around us, we lit our little fireworks (and some of them were exceptionally little...). I wonder when my kids move out and begin families of their own, will they go to the local grocery store parking lot, plop down a couple of Alexander Hamiltons and illuminate the neighborhood--if only for the briefest of moments--all in an attempt to bring joy into their lives? And if they do, will they remember the days when they were little and their parents did the same for them? I wonder...