Back in the early sixties, fireworks were a community event. Just the mere mention of them sent parents and neighbors into a fanatical frenzy. When the details of the event were published in the newspaper, the when and where remained circled until the day of the pyrotechnics. For my family, we knew when and where. We just weren’t sure how.
We weren’t sure how because we had just recently moved to our small town in Ohio from the south. The previous year, when we had stepped off the bus, it was later in the summer and we’d already missed the Independence Day celebration. But that didn’t stop the neighborhood kids from talking about it. I heard the stories of the beautiful multi-colored displays in the sky. Since I’d never seen such an awesome show, I could only imagine and wait patiently throughout the school year, until the next summer.
And wait I did. My brothers and sisters had anticipated the event just as I, for nearly a full year. And on the morning of July 4th, we were up early, asking our mother the details about what would be for us, a night of wonderment. She, too, was optimistic. The fireworks display would be held at the local high school football stadium. And my mother, a single parent, had arranged for a ride to the stadium with a friend. We would all be going. I knew this was going to be the coolest thing ever.
As the day faded, and the time got nearer, we could barely hold our excitement. My mother got us dressed and ready to go. We were so full excitement that we crowded our front porch, waiting for our ride to come. Right before dusk, a small car pulled up in front of the house. The driver honked the horn, and yelled through the lowered passenger’s window, “Send your mama outside.” I’d never seen him before, but I ran inside and told my mother that someone wanted to see her. I knew it couldn’t be our ride to the event, because the car was too small, and there was no way all of us would be able to fit inside.
My mom walked down there stairs and leaned in the car window. They started their conversation and after a minute or two, it got a little animated. I knew mom was very angry, but I had no idea about what. After a minute or two, she turned and walked away as the driver kept yelling, “I’m sorry.” My mother ignored him and he sped away. As she walked past us, back into the house, I could see that her eyes had welled up with tears. She went inside the house without saying a word to any of us. I knew then, we weren’t going to the fireworks.
We all knew. But we were family and went inside the house to be with our mother. She didn’t explain to us what happened or why, she simply said that this year, we wouldn’t be able to go. But next year, she promised, we would be there. After a while, she made us a bowl of popcorn and we all went outside and sat on the front porch to eat it.
We lived next to a bar, and as the evening wore on, patrons had started to show up and head inside the place. One of the patrons, who we knew from the neighborhood, came past our house on the way to the bar. Before going in, he stopped short and said, “Good evening, Phelps,” to our mother. My mother smiled, and spoke to him. Then he asked, “Are you going to watch the fireworks?”
My mother told him that we wouldn’t be going this year and that we’d probably call it an early night. “Going?” he asked. “Why on earth would you want to go and bother with that crowd? You can watch the fireworks right here on your front porch. Just look to your east,” he said, pointing in the direction, “at 9:00 and you’ll see them. You’ll have the best seats in town,” he said, and disappeared inside the bar.
We Got to See the Fireworks After All!
And so, with our popcorn, we huddled together, and waited patiently until we saw the first explosion of brilliant colors, lighting up the dark horizon. For us, it was absolutely sublime. The most beautiful display we had seen in our brief lives. And for our mom, it was a bit of redemption. She had, indeed, been able to treat her children to the most wonderful show our town had to offer.
No, we didn’t experience all the loud bangs and noise, but, truth be told, even to this day I’m not a fan of all the cacophony that comes along with the brilliance of fireworks. After it was over, we headed to bed. As our mother tucked us in, she said to my older brothers, “next year, we’ll go.” And one of my brothers said, “heck mom, I don’t see how that would be any better than what we had tonight.”
And you know, he was right.
