Here’s a life lesson – one of those, “Listen up, children, and you’ll grow up to be old and gray:” Never set off fireworks under a grapevine arbor. Not the kind of high-powered, military-grade types that will bring down drones in mid-flight. BUT ALSO not the low-powered kind you get at convenience stores and have cute, little drawings of smiling kitties and daisies.
I hope you all followed the rule this year. Last year we didn’t, and learned it leads to another lesson: Don’t get blown-up by legal fireworks … the world will laugh.
As I write this, I have no idea what is in store for me this year’s Fourth of July. My deadline was early in the week. So all I know as I write this is my mother bought a bunch of fireworks for the big shindig she hosts on Independence Day. Lined up in her garage were quite a selection of goodies: A duck that laid eggs (no idea who thinks these up, or how that one will go.) A truck that drives and launches mortars from its payload. A couple of rockets on red sticks that look capable of bringing down a drone in mid-flight.
“I bought them for the kids,” she said. “They’re all legal and safe and perfectly age-appropriate.”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “You look like you’re loading up for deployment to Afghanistan!”
“How bad could it be?” she asked. “It’s a duck! I mean, it does have fangs and blood dripping from its beak. And the warning label said to light, run and never look back … but it’s a cute-looking duck!”
We learned last year not to trust my mother’s instinct for “cute-looking” fireworks. Also, to never to light them under the grape vine arbor. Every year we gather at her house to eat pulled pork, sweat, argue about nonsense, sweat some more, argue about whether sweating is good for you, eat some ice cream and then set off fireworks she bought from a partially-charred tent on the side of the road. It is usually run by a guy whose full name is “Kenny.”
Those are the best kind of fireworks, my mother claims. Why? Because they’re not Chinese. There’s no politics involved in that claim. It has more to do with the fact that she believes American fireworks are more strictly regulated, tamer, better for the environment, safer and less likely to have been previously used by a mine-blasting company looking to diversify revenue. She also doesn’t read labels, because if she did she would realize they’re universally in Chinese, which is kind of a dead giveaway as to their country of origin.
But no matter … it’s a duck! With bloody fangs!
And some of us get it in our minds that maybe she’s right. Maybe what Kenny sold her is completely tame and safe. Maybe we can light the cute little duck or bunny or Australian wombat holding a detonator off the back porch or under the grape vine arbor. Because that’s what people like us with advanced degrees do. Forget that it’s kind of like setting them off indoors.
As my brother went to light the little firework last year, I remember telling my daughter and wife, “Backup … backup like-go-to-Palataka-backup.” Just then the entire grape vine arbor erupted into a smoking hell of candy-colored flames. Family members leaped for cover and screamed, “Stupid Kenny!” Grapes exploded on the vine from the intense heat. A drone flying over immediately crashed. A year later my brother’s eyebrows still haven’t grown back.
Have we learned our lesson? By the arsenal of coal-mine blasting fireworks lined up in my mother’s garage, I would say, “no.” But at least the charred grape vines haven’t grown back yet.