Short post today. I've things to blow up. Well, I don't really, but my kids do, and I don't trust them to do it alone. I've seen their work and I've seen the look they get in their eyes.
I really like this holiday. I don't know too many people who don't. Well, other than those who value their sleep at night and grow tired quickly of the incessant banging and booming and cracking that goes on long after midnight. That doesn't bother me much, though. It's a couple nights of the year. I find it curious though humans' fascination with things that go bang. The amount of money they'll shell out to make that possible is hilarious, in a sad way.
I have some really good memories of the Fourth. Everything from the big family picnics back in the day at my uncle Gene's to a girl beating the crap out of me in Wiggenhorn Park. That's not such a good memory, I guess, but I had it coming. I threw a firecracker far too close to the kid she was babysitting. She didn't appreciate it, and she commenced to wail on me with both hands, slapping me to and fro. I ran pretty fast, but it seemed as if she hounded my every step all the way home until I could escape for good. A better memory was the year I spent the day at Lake McConaughy, swimming, cooking, laughing, and drinking. That night we caught the fireworks, and it was pretty much a perfect day. There have been a lot of years like that. The years as kid watching the fireworks in Omaha, complete with skydivers starting the night off right.
These years, it seems my wife has to work about every other year, and it's more difficult to create that same feeling as when I was a kid. It was a simpler time then. Easier to get people together, it seems. But we do our best. We still gather around at night and point our heads upward waiting for the sky to light up. We still oh and ah. We still laugh and partake in good food. These are still good days.
I really like this holiday. I don't know too many people who don't. Well, other than those who value their sleep at night and grow tired quickly of the incessant banging and booming and cracking that goes on long after midnight. That doesn't bother me much, though. It's a couple nights of the year. I find it curious though humans' fascination with things that go bang. The amount of money they'll shell out to make that possible is hilarious, in a sad way.
I have some really good memories of the Fourth. Everything from the big family picnics back in the day at my uncle Gene's to a girl beating the crap out of me in Wiggenhorn Park. That's not such a good memory, I guess, but I had it coming. I threw a firecracker far too close to the kid she was babysitting. She didn't appreciate it, and she commenced to wail on me with both hands, slapping me to and fro. I ran pretty fast, but it seemed as if she hounded my every step all the way home until I could escape for good. A better memory was the year I spent the day at Lake McConaughy, swimming, cooking, laughing, and drinking. That night we caught the fireworks, and it was pretty much a perfect day. There have been a lot of years like that. The years as kid watching the fireworks in Omaha, complete with skydivers starting the night off right.
These years, it seems my wife has to work about every other year, and it's more difficult to create that same feeling as when I was a kid. It was a simpler time then. Easier to get people together, it seems. But we do our best. We still gather around at night and point our heads upward waiting for the sky to light up. We still oh and ah. We still laugh and partake in good food. These are still good days.
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