Ah, the Fourth of July!  The sharp staccato of fireworks, the good times shared at countless outdoor parties and the delicious scent of seared meat wafting on the breeze.  Unfortunately, in years past, some of that burnt flesh belonged to Yours Truly.

Today we are going to cover discuss fireworks.  Given that the Independence Day holiday is fast approaching, fireworks involve gunpowder and they are most often used outdoors, this makes the topic entirely appropriate for this corner.  Besides, I didn’t have any real luck fishing this week.

I’ve often mentioned that writing a column is a delicate balancing act.  You want the reader to share every moment of your adventures, yet real-life is fraught with many so many things that are illegal, immoral and/or fattening.  However, some stories simply lose their zest if you remove the “questionable” parts.

Therefore, gentle reader, please realize that I have wrestled with the decision to print the following fireworks story.  Before you send an outraged letters to the editor explaining how stupid, dangerous, illegal, immoral and possibly fattening this column is, please know that I agree one-hundred percent.

It’s also pretty funny, especially if you happen to be a guy.

First we must cover the obligatory legal mumbo-jumbo.  The events described within are incredibly dangerous and quite likely to cause serious injury or death to anyone who also attempts the same.  At the time, over a decade ago, they were also of questionable legality.

Impressionable youth are warned never to play with gunpowder or fireworks.  Of course there are no impressionable youth read this column because they are all busy searching the Internet for instructions on how to build remotely-detonated nuclear fission bombs using only common household item but we are required to add that caution.

Moving along;

As a child, I discovered that shotgun shells could be cut open and the propellant inside extracted for use in scientific experiments such as: “What happens when model airplanes are packed with smokeless powder and set afire in the field behind our house?”  You might have also read the lesser-known follow-up thesis: “The effects of severe corporal punishment and home detention on young smokeless powder researchers”

Later, in my teenage years, I discovered real black powder.  In an effort to protect the guilty, I’ll just say it originally was a gift from an adult hunter.  I later became old enough purchase the magical substance myself and life was never the same.

The black powder, along with fireworks scrounged from a variety of sources, was turned into an endless procession of home-brewed explosives that either delighted, or more often, bored the assembled crowds.  In that quest for the ultimate show, my fireworks grew larger, more dangerous and in a few successful cases, even more spectacular.  Flash forward a few dozen years to our annual July 4 neighborhood picnic.

I will not divulge construction details of my grand-finale firework except to say that a substantial quantity of powder was involved and it probably would have been illegal under the Geneva Convention.

In the videotape of the incident, mothers of the various participants are heard off-camera, murmuring concerns about the safety of their offspring and the dim-wittedness of beer-fueled fathers.  Finally, we reached the moment of truth.

A transcript of the end of the video reads something like this:  “What is he doing…why is he using a car battery…that doesn’t look safe, get the kids back…has anybody…..AAAEEEEEEEEEIIII!!!!!”

The screen goes completely bright orange in the split second I completed the electrical triggering circuit.  Screams, rattling casserole dishes, car alarms and barking dogs provided the soundtrack as smoke, flame and exploding fireworks were carried into the air from the force of the blast.  The streetlight overhead is obscured by a mushroom cloud and several particular vulgar words are heard above the din.

It was fantastic.

After the commotion died down, stunned witnesses gathered their wide-eyed children to flee the area.  No one was injured but a number of the moms refused even to acknowledge the master pyrotechnician afterward.  On the other hand, several of the assembled dads thought it was the coolest thing they had ever seen so the overall score was a tie.

I quit making homemade fireworks after that.  Aside from the long-term prospect of losing several digits or assorted arms, I was sure that a government agency had seen the blast from an orbiting spy satellite and would likely send a team to investigate.  Since I’m not a big fan of prison food, I decided in the future to stick with store-bought goodies.

Though nothing bad happened, I am still required to end the column with a note cautioning everyone not to mess with dangerous and possibly illegal fireworks.  It’s simply not worth the danger and trouble.

Not even if the video clip becomes one of your most prized possessions.

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