Fireworks

There is something about fireworks that draw me in. I’m not an "aahhhh-er" or an "oohhhh-er" as fireworks light up the night sky but I really enjoy watching them explode, unfold, disintegrate and float away. It doesn’t matter the kind, or whether they’re huge, multicoloured starbursts, shooting stars with long colourful tails, the kind that drip and weep as they crackle into extinction, or the white flashes that just go “boom.”

I watch silently, somewhat awestruck, impressed, I think at the relatively safe but powerful force of it all.

When I was a child, we could buy recreational fireworks at the corner store. I was not allowed to buy the rockets that shot into the sky and exploded, or the twirling pinwheels - too dangerous - but my parents saw no problem, providing I followed the rules and didn’t throw them at anyone or anything, with the smaller strings of red firecrackers, the kind powerful enough to cause severe burns or blind an eye, but probably not strong enough to remove a finger.

Lighting each one and watching it go “Bang!” got a little monotonous so we experimented. We blew up piles of leaves and sometimes had to stomp out the fires that started as a result; we dropped them down sewer grates and listened for the echoing bang, but the most fun was to light several as quickly as we could, and place them in a can. Seconds later the can would fly into the air on a probably more unpredictably dangerous path than well-aimed rockets.

Then, alas, these small-scale fireworks were taken off the market because too many people had managed to do damage to themselves and others by hanging on too long and being burned or possibly by being struck by flying cans. A person needed a permit and an occasion to purchase fireworks. From then on I had to be happy with watching planned displays.

Most fireworks watching requires spending time on a surprisingly chilly evening and being insect bait for the millions of nasty mosquitoes that hang around waiting for unsuspecting fireworks watchers not dressed in jeans, socks, and long sleeved hoodies to expose bare flesh and provide a late-night meal. The actual viewing experience requires shivering, swatting, flapping and slapping, and, if you are really close and lucky, keeping hot little embers from burning holes in your clothes and/or skin. Still, I'm enthrawled.

I’ve never seen a huge explosion – not, thank goodness, explosions resulting from acts of terrorism or war where bombs rip buildings, bodies, families and nations apart or explosions caused by gas leaks or other combustibles that cause great damage, so maybe my fascination with things that go boom is naïve.

I was once told that had I witnessed unplanned and horrifying explosions, my fascination for fireworks would be quickly squelched but I'm not so sure. My curiosity doesn't extend to horrific details or how fireworks are made or what actually makes them work. I only want to watch in awed silence as the sky lights up with spectacular but safe bursts of colour and noise.