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| Prepping for the show |
If you follow my blog at all (you know, all 20 posts),
you’ve read about my Father-In-Law’s predilection for fireworks. Side note: The
word “predilection” gets a bad rap. It simply means, “a preference or special
liking,” (thank you Google) but only ever seems associated with deviant
behavior. You never hear, “My FIL’s predilection for fireworks led him to
provide an annual show for underprivileged children.” Instead you’ll read,
“Tyler man’s predilection for fireworks caused him to push underprivileged children
to the ground in order to get to the fireworks stand first.” Of course, the
latter is closer to reality, but in his defense, he had no way of knowing those
children were underprivileged.
Which brings me to this year’s show. Thankfully, the
underprivileged children were safe…not because my FIL has seen the error of his
ways. Nope, he’s simply discovered online wholesale shopping. That’s right,
folks, my FIL now buys fireworks by the pallet…because “by the suburban” could
no longer satisfy his…well…um…predilection.
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| Truckload #2 |
You see…his bulk-buying plan was to shoot off some this year
and save some back for the future. As a bona fide fireworks enabler, I told him
that was the stupidest plan ever—not because firework storage is dangerous
(though it is) but rather because a firework was made to entertain through
explosive awesomeness, and besides, who are we to deny this inanimate object
it’s God-given right to fulfill it’s full potential, especially on this day of celebration
in which we honor our great nation and our freedom from the tyranny of firework
oppression…or something like that…’Merica!
I won’t give you a blow by blow (pun very much intended) of
the night’s show, but I will offer a couple of highlights that made the night
particularly memorable.
As the Lead Firework Setter-Offer Guy, I have grumbled
mightily about the presence of artillery shells in the show. In the Texas heat amid a mosquito-filled field, a single light for a single boom is pretty
unsatisfying. So my FIL came up with a solution—cannon fuse! In a rack of 50
pre-loaded tubes, he spliced about five fuses together so that one light would
yield five sequential booms…at least in theory.
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| Best laid plans |
Here’s what really happened…I lit a single fuse and just as
the first aerial lifted off, I noticed that the other 10 fuses were suddenly
alight, as well. I looked at my FIL, and we telepathically communicated, “This
is either going to be AMAZING (pause for effect) or we’re...about...to...die!” Thankfully, amazing
happened, and I live to blog another day. Imagine 50 multi-shot aerials exploding
in the night sky all at once. Other than unintentionally showcasing what should
have been the grand finale 10 minutes into the show, it was pretty cool.
The second highlight took place just as the show was coming
to a close. An aerial had just finished, and I heard my wife shout over the
radio, “Ben, don’t light anything more. The sheriff’s here.” Of course, I register the warning just in time to see my FIL light a 9-shot, 500-gram aerial…in the words of Rick Perry,
“Whoops!”
After the explosions ceased and the ground stopped quaking, the sheriff wandered out to chat with my FIL. In a priceless example of inopportune timing, I noticed a previously discharged firework had burst into flames. So as my father attempted to smooth things over, I stealthily made my way to the aforementioned hazard and began jumping on it like it was my own personal trampoline…a trampoline of fire albeit. Now, I don't know about you, but ending up in jail was not in my plans for the evening so I began crafting a better alibi than “My FIL made me do it!" or "What propane torch, officer?" Fortunately, the sheriff was simply responding to a call from a neighbor who apparently hates fun and in his assessment everything was Code 4--that's police for "not breaking the law." I even heard him use the words, “Clearly, y’all are being safe.” I thought to myself, “Thank goodness he missed the artillery shell debacle.,” as I continued to jump on my fire trampoline…of death. But if safe means risky…and maybe a touch stupid...then, yes, officer, we are being safe.
After the explosions ceased and the ground stopped quaking, the sheriff wandered out to chat with my FIL. In a priceless example of inopportune timing, I noticed a previously discharged firework had burst into flames. So as my father attempted to smooth things over, I stealthily made my way to the aforementioned hazard and began jumping on it like it was my own personal trampoline…a trampoline of fire albeit. Now, I don't know about you, but ending up in jail was not in my plans for the evening so I began crafting a better alibi than “My FIL made me do it!" or "What propane torch, officer?" Fortunately, the sheriff was simply responding to a call from a neighbor who apparently hates fun and in his assessment everything was Code 4--that's police for "not breaking the law." I even heard him use the words, “Clearly, y’all are being safe.” I thought to myself, “Thank goodness he missed the artillery shell debacle.,” as I continued to jump on my fire trampoline…of death. But if safe means risky…and maybe a touch stupid...then, yes, officer, we are being safe.
So another 4th down…and we’ve clearly set a new benchmark
for success: It’s not a party until the cops show up.
I think next year we’ll just invite them ahead of time.
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