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Fireworks and Fathers
Hoping we didn’t give our baby permanent trauma
Our city takes the Fourth of July very seriously. The day’s festivities include a parade that draws an audience of around 4,000 people (twice the population of our town), a party in the park, and of course a grand fireworks display.
The city shoots off the fireworks at the airport, and hundreds of people tailgate in parking lots and by businesses around town to get good seats. As dusk falls, the anticipation grows and people blast off their own fireworks as they wait for the real show to start.
Of course, like good citizens, we partook in all the day’s events, rounding out the evening by parking in the local grocery store parking lot and eating cookies while we waited. When it was finally dark enough, the show started with a grand introduction of dozens of fireworks scattered across the night sky.
Because we were parked across the highway, Graham was fine with the distant rumbling. I’m not sure how well he could see the fireworks, but he looked across the field with rapt attention and wide blue eyes.
Apparently, though, the personal firework shows don’t stop when the town firework show starts — in fact, more begin. As we sat on the hood of the car and watched the horizon, oblivious to what was happening in the parking lot near…
