4 07 2008

Since it is now the 4th of July, I’m going to explain my irrational fear of fireworks.

Okay, maybe not so irrational but whatever.   Here goes.

When I was 8, my family went to the house of another family for 4th of July festivities.  Fun was had by all.  Until a bottle-rocket was placed into a hole in the ground instead of, you know, a bottle, and it took off in a wonky direction.  The target?  My right shoulder.

Christ, that hurt.  Have you ever been shot in the shoulder with a bottle rocket?  I’m guessing not.  The pain was unbelievable.  So obviously I’m screeching and screaming and making all kinds of ouchy noises.  Stupid Jeremy Hayes thought I was on fire and promptly hosed me down.  So there I am, in pain, and soaking wet.  In front of tons of people.  Have I mentioned I was an extraordinarily shy child?  And THEN, because I don’t have extra clothes with me, I’m stripped down and wrapped in a towel.  But I was cared for by a very sweet lady there who was a nurse and given a popsicle.

The bruise that stayed on my shoulder for over a week was amazing.  And when I went to ballet class the next day with my leotard strap cutting into the giant black/blue/yellow splotch that I swear extended beyond my body I thought: Fireworks are the most horrible thing on God’s green earth.

For years after that, whenever fireworks were being set off in the driveway or street, I watched them from inside.  I’m here to tell you that watching fireworks from a front living room window is really difficult, no matter how you press against the glass and roll your eyes to the heavens.  It wasn’t until a few years ago that I was willing to venture outside to see them.  And even then I stayed close to the house in a stance that kept me prepared for maximum evasion tactics should so much as a sparkler seem to come my way.  A couple years after that, I managed to hold a Roman Candle in my hand as it shot multicolored sparks out of the end.  That is progress.  But I still never light the fireworks, God no.

This is pretty sad considering how much I love watching fireworks.  I stare up at the sky like a little kid, completely fascinated and enthralled.  Especially when it’s a big show and I know they’re all being lit far, far away from me.  That’s the best kind.




5 responses

4 07 2008

That was so kind of you not to mention that it was your dad who caused the rocket to wave its way thru the crowd and end up scorching HIS OWN DAUGHTER while everyone gasped in unison!

Or did you not realize…or had blocked this info?

4 07 2008

I was being kind. Way to ruin it. 🙂

4 07 2008

ruin it? nah, call a spade a spade. you do realize blogging is MUCH cheaper than therapy, right?

4 07 2008

If dad is a spade, then he’s the ACE of spades.

. . . .

Excuse me while I go snort with laughter at my own lame joke. 🙂
God, I AM turning into my mother.

7 07 2008

I had a firecracker pop in my hand once. ‘Cause I was young and stupid and didn’t listen to my bro tell me to THROW IT RIGHT AWAY. But I realize that was me being dumb. Sorry you are still scared of them. But I think it is rational!

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