The Pop-Its were fun

“Oh, that’s right,” I actually said aloud as the first missile thing exploded near the power line. “I’m the one who says ‘OH!’” And thus began last night’s adrenaline-filled 2nd Annual Driveway Fireworks Spectacular.

It was a group of 11 of us, none born-and-bred local. All were visitors or somewhat recent transplants from places where fireworks are limited to professional displays and tepid home-use explosives ho-humly labeled “Safe and Sane.” Not even sparklers fall into that category. So sheltered.

The instructions for last night were simple and eagerly embraced: bring whatever fireworks you want/your wife will allow. Our county has few restrictions and lots of rednecks, so the explosives offered for sale – legally – are eye-popping to say the least. No need to find an Indian reservation. Nope, roman candles, artillery shells, multi-shots, and fountains are as easy to find here as your nearest grocery store parking lot.

So when the sun finally set last night, our group of 4 men, 3 teenagers, 1 grade-schooler, and 3 slightly edgy women gathered on a rural driveway. A large trashcan filled with water was nearby, as were a garden hose and a Boy Scout. Safe and sane, that was our motto. We started at about 9:30pm. We finished just before the midnight curfew.

It started off calmly enough with the expected oohs and aaahs and applause. The women lovingly snickered as we observed the four men strategize and arrange and engineer the display. But somewhere around the 4th or 5th explosive, things sort of went downhill. Not literally, thank God, but close enough. By the end of it all, we had 5 misfires, 3 exploded launch tubes, 1 deck chair with a burn mark, and 1 husband banished to Hose Duty. And 3 particularly edgy women.

The misfires were, well, terrifying. The first one was due to a firework falling over and exploding horizontally instead of vertically. Did I mention horizontally towards us? The colorful sparks sort of danced closer and closer…to the spectators, to the house, to the table of undentonated explosives. Nothing caught on fire, thank God, and the ember on the deck chair quickly burned itself out before causing anything more than a scary memento. After a few minutes of analysis and regrouping and a return to normal breathing, the show resumed. But the women were just a touch more edgy.

Then a launch tube exploded. They aren’t supposed to do that. Again, it exploded towards us. With wide eyes, we decided maybe a break would be good, an intermission of sorts. So the sparklers came out. Sane enough, until you put one in your mouth and dance around. And no, Dan hadn’t been drinking. He’s just that way.

“I have a tax shelter that is a knife company,” Dan had casually explained earlier over dinner. I think that was after the breezy conversation about his doing target practice in his backyard from his living room couch. And no, honestly, he’s not a redneck; he’s an engineer. Nevertheless, the kids were reminded repeatedly that Dan is a “Don’t” example and that, no, sparklers do not belong in one’s mouth. Safe and sane? Hmmmm.

Further inspection of the destroyed launch tube and more analysis followed. Dave was laughingly but pointedly ordered to sit in a chair for the remainder of the show after the wives overheard him say, “OH, look at that. There IS an arrow and it even says ‘This End Up.’ How did I miss that?” Shortly thereafter I heard Rob say to him, “Thanks for doing this at YOUR house.”

As a group, I have to say I am pretty proud of the wives. We were rather quiet and un-hysterical, given the circumstances. Aside from the Banishment of Dave and the rearrangement of all the lawn chairs to be as far from the display as possible, we did a pretty good job of trusting the men to know what they were doing. OK, yes, at one point I sort of plaintively called out, “Can we be done now?” and I did sort of find myself in a fetal position in my lawn chair after one misfire. And I sort of flapped my arms around like Kermit the Frog when Dan was lingering around sparking fireworks, insisting on lighting others so we could have a consecutive display. And, well, yeah, there was also that one misfire where we all got out of our chairs and quickly backed away. OK, maybe we weren’t quite as nonplussed as I thought.

Safe and sane. Safe and sane. Maybe those killjoys in California really were onto something after all.