Saturday, July 05, 2008

The Rockets--Did You Know They Glare? Menacingly?

When I grew up, the Fourth of July meant slurping homemade peach ice cream and hanging out at the neighbors' pool until one of them got too drunk and threatened to throw my mom into the deep end, which was our signal to pack it up and head home. (When I think back, I seem to also remember a bowl of keys? I wonder . . . )

Of particular note: no sparklers, no flaming pagodas, no conical sprays of fire, no bottle rockets, black cats, snap pops. No real presence of pyrotechnics, big or small. I think I can count the number of fireworks shows I saw growing up, on one hand, with fingers missing. And most accompanied with screaming. But who could hear over those deafening explosions?

This Fourth of July was a departure from what Carrie and Ricky call my decidedly unAmerican childhood. I don't know what our city ordinances are, so let's just say that I spent a lot of time hiding behind the children. And giggling.


carie said...

Your childhood freedom celebration days sound great. I have never made homemade ice cream or baked a cake on the 4th of july, because I have always been too busy in the war zone with the tanks, shoot-em-ups, and rocket bombs.

spamchang said...

i don't think my family every really did anything spectacular for the 4th. these days i hang out and watch the fireworks downtown--last year with people, this year alone. invariably, i end up either volunteering or rowing at the rowing club's annual 4th of july pick-up regatta :p

glad to hear you combusted some gunpowder!