This time of year I’m always reminded that I’ve never lived in a place where fireworks were legal. Even growing up as a kid in St. Louis county meant a trip in the backseat of my brother-in-law’s T-bird across the line to lawless Jefferson County, where communities such as Peerless Park and the nearby Valley Park catered to those willing to cross the border with their contraband.
Looking back as a parent, giving explosives and magnesium flares to children makes no sense whatsoever. So why do I miss holding bricks of Black Cat firecrackers and grosses of bottle rockets?
Give a kid a brick of firecrackers and you’ve handed him a night’s worth of mayhem.
Here is a list of things I’ve blown up with firecrackers:
1. Model Airplanes – Before my teens I used to build model airplanes and hang them from my bedroom ceiling. At the age of 13, most of these were blown up in live-action reenactments of Midway, Pearl Harbor and the Battle of Britain.
2. Army Men – Battle of the Bulge the seige of Ke San were reenacted, complete with buried explosives and flung grenades.
3. Crayfish – At the age of 10 I was attacked by a group of jihadi crawdads all wearing suicide vests. Well, actually they were trying to scurry away with lit fireworks on their backs but the results were the same.
4. Copper pipes – Hammer one end of a pipe nearly shut, drop a firecracker in, add rock and bang – instant pellet gun/pipe bomb (if you overdo it)
5. Fingers – By the time I came of age, cherry bombs and M-80s* were just myths: most firecrackers could go off in your hands without anything nastier happening than some light burns and one heck of a sting. Fast fuses in the cheaply made Chinese firecrackers were common, as were the sounds of ZZT, BANG, followed by a boy’s cry for his mother.
For all the fireworks I illegally shot off, for all the bottlerocket fights and mishandling if not downright abuse of them, I never needed more medical attention than a squirt of bactine and a bandaid.
There are still places in America where people can participate in this uniquely American fascination with blowing things up with explosives, and do so without the heavy hand of the Nanny State. As a good parent though, who is not living in a free state, I won’t teach my kid disrespect for the law by driving to a nearby state, picking up a few bricks and grosses and having a blast in my own backyard. But as the cicadas whine and the heat and humidity bear down, I will nurse a healthy resentment for the bureaucrats and do-gooders who keep me from blowing things up behind my stockade fence.
The Nazi advance must be halted, Charlie must be repelled…
*The M-80 was the stuff of legend among boys ages 8-12. We had all heard stories about the power of this explosive, and yearned to find one or make one ourselves. This lead to serious engineering efforts along the lines of a neighborhood Manhattan Project whereby we slit open firecrackers, emptied out their powder onto a piece of newspaper, added a fuze and rolled it as tightly as possible. While these cigar-sized wads usually fizzled, we did get lucky once. Billy Moore: We hardly knew ye…