Fireworks, Circus Clowns, and Things That Go Bump in the Night

by Slouching Mom at Slouching Towards 40
Posted on July 7, 2007

At our hotel last week we slept the peculiar and stuporous sleep made possible by relentless air conditioning and heavy, double curtains. Sleep so drugged that when it finally releases you from its grip you have no idea where you are or what time it is. So when we awoke on Independence Day, cocooned in our room, we were unaware for some time that the threat of severe thunderstorms had left fireworks organizers concerned and dithering. They had not officially cancelled the evening's festivities, but we learned that they might do so at any moment.

All week Jack had been asking pointed questions about these now-iffy fireworks. Could they come close enough to people to burn them? How loud would they be? Would there be an actual fire? No? But then why are they called fireworks? We had suspected that he might be anxious about the fireworks. (Last year he had hated them so much that we ended up fitting him with a pair of headphones, enabling him to tune them out altogether.) But along with these suspicions we had hoped that a year might make a difference, that Ben's enthusiasm for them might prove infectious. Read more...