As a child, I always looked forward to July 4th. There was always a huge family gathering of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmothers, and other friends and family. The men always tried to outdo one another in how many fireworks they brought. The year I will never forget was the mack-daddy of all July 4th celebrations.
That year, we gathered at my cousin’s house. Their big old house sat at the end of a long gravel driveway. The homemade ice cream was churning, with one of us kids sitting on a folded towel to hold the bucket still while our dads took turns cranking the handle round and round. We enjoyed sliced watermelon while waiting for the ice cream to freeze.
Finally, the ice cream was ready, and everyone dug into that frozen, creamy goodness. It was dark enough to start the fireworks by the time we finished. My grandmothers, mom, and aunts moved their folding chairs closer to the road. My aunt and uncle’s house had a low rock wall stretching across the front yard along the roadside. While the men readied the bottle rockets, we ran around waving sparklers, creating starlit patterns in the night air. Bottle rockets launched in succession and flew screaming across the road. All of us kids were sitting as close as we were allowed.
To a kid, fireworks are magical. Once lit, they take off and disappear until they explode above you in the night sky, creating colorful explosions. The Roman Candles were next. Those long tubes hold six to ten balls of fire that shoot out one after the other. The rock wall seemed like the perfect place to launch the Roman Candles. The wall was about three feet high and had a flat cement surface where they placed the Candles. Our dads arranged two or three Roman Candles on the wall, aiming them across the road.
My uncle moved quickly down the line of candles, lighting each in succession. The first fireballs shot across the road as expected, but then the candles spun around! Now, they were aiming right at us. The following ten or fifteen fireballs flew in rapid succession in our direction. Everyone ran for cover. It was a wild scene of kids and adults scattering across the yard, with fireballs whizzing past us, exploding as they flew past! I had never seen my grandmothers move so fast, knocking over their chairs as they took cover behind the pine trees that dotted the front yard.
That July 4th is my favorite memory. Our dads were lying flat against the wall when the bombs finally stopped. They had been trapped and ridden out the Roman Candles volley closer to the action than they had bargained for. They were rolling in laughter as one of my grandmothers peered slowly around a pine tree, pine straw sticking out of her red hair. My other grandmother was flat on the ground behind her folding chair! The laughter started once we realized no one was hurt. I’ve never seen anything like it since, and I probably never will. I still pass that house when driving through town. The rock wall is crumbling today, but I always think of that special July 4th when my family became moving targets.
When my children were growing up, our friends would gather on July 4th to celebrate. Our husbands also tried to outdo one another with their assortment of fireworks. Our children have their own fond memories of past celebrations, complete with burgers and homemade ice cream, followed by an impressive fireworks display. But nothing will ever top my memory of the year my family became moving targets.
Father, thank You for the showers of blessings we receive from Your loving hands. Amen