My Favorite 4th

My Brother Jack was born on July the Third and he and I loved fireworks. We both wanted to be soldiers and we practiced war our entire childhood. Because of our obsession my favorite holiday, and my Brother Jack’s, was and is the Fourth of July and the one I remember best is the first one that I can remember.

While growing up in small town Vivian, there were no City ordinances barring the use of fireworks. Every manner of explosives was sold including M-80s and Two-Inchers. Jack and I are both lucky to have all our digits as we later experimented with everything we could strike a match too.

My buddy Timmy Jon and I even mixed our own batch of gunpowder and almost burned up the house with it. The first Fourth that I can remember, however, we made do with firecrackers, bottle rockets, sparklers and Roman candles.

On the Fourth of July my Mom and Dad would buy us about ten dollars worth of fireworks. Ten bucks doesn’t sound like much but you could pop lots of firecrackers for that amount in the sixties. We always began the fireworks as soon as it was dark enough.

I don’t remember my age but I was old enough to feel the excitement of impending danger. With our Dad’s help we began lighting sparklers, popping firecrackers and launching one bottle rocket after another. We soon got down to the good stuff.

‘Hold it in the air and shake it,” My Dad directed as he lit my first-ever Roman candle.

I can still remember the percussion and slight recoil as incandescent flame burst from the coiled-paper barrel of the explosive device. I couldn’t count at the time but I had a seat-of-the-pants feel for how many fiery rounds the candle contained. When it was over I held the warm rod in my hand, inhaling acrid smoke and burned powder. It was an odor I will never forget.

My red-headed Brother Jack was next at bat and he had mischief in mind before my Dad ever lit the candle’s fuse. My Mother was standing behind us in the open door of our house. Soon as the candle started spitting fire, Jack began pointing it at anything that caught his fancy - a tree, the family car, me, and finally toward the open door of the house.

Dodging the oncoming fireball, my Mom screamed and jumped off the porch. Jack put at least three fireballs through the house, luckily catching nothing on fire. When he finally threw down the spent Roman candle my Dad just shook his head, grabbed the remaining fireworks and walked into the house. Mom followed him, but not before unloading verbally on Jack.

Nothing much else was ever said about the incident, Mom and Dad giving Brother Jack the benefit of the doubt that what he did was caused by inexperience and lack of good sense. After living in close proximity to him until I was fifteen, I know better. He went to sleep that night giggling about scaring my Mom and Dad and getting away with it.

The Fourth of July means a lot more to me than just fireworks and hot dogs and we should all reflect on the sacrifices this wonderful holiday immortalizes. Still, my favorite holiday remains the Fourth of July and the one I remember best is the first one that I can remember.

Fiction South