The best view

The kids of 28th Terrace had it all figured out. An annual trip to the fireworks stand was an adventure.

Mom and Dad would walk with us as we made our selection of what would be our celebration. We had to have fountains, the eight ball roman candles, some sky rockets, Red Devils, lots of fire crackers, snakes, and the evening would not be complete without lots and lots of sparklers. And don’t forget the punks.

With the folks’ approval of our selection we were well on our way to having a grand time in the neighborhood. The days between buying these promised fun givers and shooting them off seemed to be an eternity.

We would take them out of the bags over and over again, look at them, count them and talk about the great time we were going to have. Nothing could be shot off till the 4th, and then it was no holds barred. We started early in the morning and went till midnight.

No one cared or complained about the noise. The adults had as much fun as the kids. Everyone was in party frame of mind. Each family would set off their own collections of fireworks and then gather at the end of the evening for homemade ice cream and brownies and topped off with sparklers for all the kids.

Every year we heard the same safety message and if you wanted to do it next year then you did what was expected of you this year. There was no room for negotiation. Rules were simple.

 If you were under the age of 12 you could not light the firecrackers. If you were 8 years old with proper supervision you could sit on the sidewalk and light the snakes.

Younger than that – you observed. With punks in hand the older kids would gather in the door of one of our garages and stand all day long taking turns lighting ‘ladyfingers’ and throwing them into the gravel drive way.

By the time the afternoon came there was a sea of colored papers and lots of small black circles indicating where the snakes had been set off, and the air was heavy with the pungent odor of sulfur.

As the day turned into evening we returned to our respective homes for a special dinner to be topped off by celebrating as a family with our fireworks. The time it took to get dark enough seemed an eternity. The wait was much akin to waiting for Santa to come on Christmas Eve. The answer was the same for both,  “Not yet – it’s too early.” 

Unlike our Santa anticipation where we told to go back to sleep, we were told to find something else to do till it got dark.

So we decided that we needed to find the highest point where we could watch as the skies lit up later on. That’s how Donna and I and the others came to find the best viewing spot, much to our parents’ dismay.

Every back yard sported a swing set so it was obvious to us that one could perch one’s backside on the top of the swing set. This was the ideal spot. It was a plan, and word quickly spread and from that 4th of July and all those to follow, kids could be found perched eight feet in the air having the time of their lives, and the parents were suffering from anxiety in lawn chairs on the porches.

But once the army of fireflies was evident we knew the displays could not be far behind. There always were lightning bugs, that’s what we called them, but some how they seemed to increase on this special night.

Maybe they were celebrating too. Maybe they unconsciously knew that for this one night it was safe to intermingle with the kids without fear of being captured and stuffed into a quart Mason jar filled with grass and breath holes poked in the lid.

Dad would take center stage in the back yard and start the show. I remember the night that he let me hold a roman candle for the first time. I’m sure my mom was not impressed.

He stood right there beside me, told me just what to do, and if I got scared he’d walk me through it, and I felt safe. It’s a moment in time that I will always cherish as it was the first of many experiences that I, and I alone, shared with my dad.

He thought I was old enough to try something new. I only did it that one time but I remember feeling so grown up. Afterward as Donna and I took our respective places on the top of our swing set, I realized that I wasn’t afraid anymore about being up there as I had been in the past.

Thanks to my dad I had overcome being afraid. In that one simple moment he taught me to face and respect challenges. He had taught me that sometimes it’s OK “to be bold and color outside the lines.”



Jan’s first book about growing up in Independence in the 1950’s is due out soon. She invites you to visit her Web site www.independencekids1950@comcast.com.