Sparkle

Little Alan, not the least bit worried about poking an eye out.

Well, here we go again. Fireworks. My old dog Molly was terrified of them. She started shaking on July 1st and didn't stop until the morons next door ran out of explosives on the 5th. Luckily, Chandler isn't scared of the firecrackers that are already popping in our neighborhood. He gets angry at them and barks in the direction the sound is coming from. He wants to kill them. I think Scout is a little worried about the fireworks. Since the first firecracker went off this week, she has not left my side. If I go to the bathroom, she sits outside and guards the door. And the last couple of nights she has not gone to her bedroom, but slept on the floor next to Chandler. That has never happened before. I'm just happy that she trusts that her big brother will protect her from the war outside.

I used to love fireworks. Back in Tinley Park, when we were kids, the town put on a display at the end of summer. The best part was that the second story window in my sister's bedroom had a clear view of the show. So we'd all be piled up at that window, oohing and aahing with each giant explosion. The big town fireworks were alright, but for our own personal use we had snakes, sparklers, and lady fingers. Snakes were little black pill shaped things that we would light on fire, and a giant ash would grow out of them. Fun for us and they left a nice burn mark on the sidewalk to remember them by. Lady fingers were small firecrackers. They didn't make a big bang when you lit them off. They made more of a snapping sound. What I didn't like so much were the sparklers. Not after I burned my hand on one once. Always remember, in the darkness, when you drop your sparkler on the ground and it is half burned down, you cannot tell which end is which. Nothing says 'Happy Fourth of July' like giving the kids a metal rod with burning magnesium on it.