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Don't blow off any fingers!
Here's the story of why I don't light fireworks anymore:
Come back with me to... Lemme think. 4th grade? I think, so... 1983-1984. Yes, I know some of you weren't born, or were just babies. Shut up. This is my story, and I'm old so you have to travel back to my childhood.
We were living in Washington (State), in a town called Tacoma, just outside of Seattle. This was long before Seattle because 'fashionable', you know. We lived on one of the last streets of a subdivision, and there were roads around us but no more houses. So it was a lot like living on a cul-de-sac. Not a lot of traffic, lots of kids, back in the time when you knew your neighbors and all the kids played in the street. (Car!.... Game on!)
So we all gathered to light fireworks one holiday (I don't remember if it was on the 4th or just that week). I was playing with jumping jacks, little tiny firecracker things that jump, spin, and spew out multi-colored sparks (like this). They were old, I guess, and as I bent down to light the fuse, my hair, stupidly unsecured, hung past my face. The fuse on the jack went in a split second and it jumped up into my hair and proceeded to spin and burn out a large chunk right next to my face. Luckily, I had the foresight to bend at the waist so my hair hung out away from my face, so the hair was the only casualty (that was painful enough, oh the smell of burning hair!). And, luckily, they don't last long, though it seemed like a very long time to have a flaming thing suspended inches from your face.
I still enjoy a good professional display, but I'm no longer inclined to set off a bunch myself.
So take care, and stay safe!
Here's the story of why I don't light fireworks anymore:
Come back with me to... Lemme think. 4th grade? I think, so... 1983-1984. Yes, I know some of you weren't born, or were just babies. Shut up. This is my story, and I'm old so you have to travel back to my childhood.
We were living in Washington (State), in a town called Tacoma, just outside of Seattle. This was long before Seattle because 'fashionable', you know. We lived on one of the last streets of a subdivision, and there were roads around us but no more houses. So it was a lot like living on a cul-de-sac. Not a lot of traffic, lots of kids, back in the time when you knew your neighbors and all the kids played in the street. (Car!.... Game on!)
So we all gathered to light fireworks one holiday (I don't remember if it was on the 4th or just that week). I was playing with jumping jacks, little tiny firecracker things that jump, spin, and spew out multi-colored sparks (like this). They were old, I guess, and as I bent down to light the fuse, my hair, stupidly unsecured, hung past my face. The fuse on the jack went in a split second and it jumped up into my hair and proceeded to spin and burn out a large chunk right next to my face. Luckily, I had the foresight to bend at the waist so my hair hung out away from my face, so the hair was the only casualty (that was painful enough, oh the smell of burning hair!). And, luckily, they don't last long, though it seemed like a very long time to have a flaming thing suspended inches from your face.
I still enjoy a good professional display, but I'm no longer inclined to set off a bunch myself.
So take care, and stay safe!
