I remember as a preteen being intrigued by firecrackers. They were illegal where we lived, but we schemed and begged and plotted ways to get them. One summer we learned than an uncle was going to Nevada for some reason. We begged to go on the trip, and then begged even harder at every firecracker stand we passed. Finally they stopped, and we jumped out to spend our life’s savings. I think I bought a packet of 5000 Black Cat firecrackers. I still remember the red and yellow paper and black cat, and that smell of gun powder smoke. We could hardly wait to light them.
After arriving home we blew up every tin can within two blocks and invented a hundred ways to blow other things up. My favorite was sticking one into a small potato, lighting it and throwing it at my sister’s bedroom window late at night. I still remember what it feels like to have a potato blow up in your hand too.
It was late in the afternoon when we gave up and returned home. As we were walking, a thunder of rapid firecracker explosions began as my cousin began dancing around. He jumped out of his pants in a heartbeat and we stood there watching his pants jump and smoke as the remainder of his stash went up in smoke. The matches had rubbed together, lit and set off his firecrackers. We stomped out his burning pants and he walked home in his underpants, lamenting the loss of his treasured firecrackers more than how he was going to explain the loss of his pants to his parents.
My point? Un-Blogging about some things is just inviting explosions.
Next on the Un-Blog: The Strait and Narrow Path
© March 2012, John M. Pontius, all rights reserved. Non-commercial reproduction permitted.