The truth is, Fireworks freak me out. I can’t stand them – there is not enough
xanax in the world that keeps me from simultaneously wanting to wrap a towel
around my head and crawl under a bed and haul ass far away when those
explosives go off. I would lead a very
fulfilled life if never go to a firework display ever again, staying far away
from the crowds of knuckheads and the random, heart stopping blowing up of
cherry bombs and bottle rockets.
I am true to what I have felt since I was a kid. Loud noises have always made me shriek and
jump – the sound of a popping balloon
makes my heart race. As a kid I hid
under the blankets during a couple of firework shows and my parents were perceptive enough
to realize – “hmmm she really seems unhappy…”
I grew up not going into the fray
of bodies and noise. When I was
seventeen, I gave it another try
and my teenage bravado could barely hold at bay my internal terror of
the relentless blasts.
When I lived in New York, I was able to escape the fireworks
and traditional hoopla – the city cleared out on holiday and unless you made a
point of going to the fireworks on the East River, I could easily avoid the
mess. One year, I had fun watching the movie Yankee Doodle Dandy in Bryant Park.
Another, there was a Twilight Zone
marathon on TV – I think I stayed indoors for twelve hours, only moving off the
couch to answer the door for delivery. That
was an ideal 4th of July.
I know that I am in the minority and I really don’t understand why I feel so strongly
against fireworks. I am not an anxiety
riddled person – I just have always hated loud, blasting fireworks.
But here is the rub – We live in a town that celebrates with
a huge fireworks extravaganza and we have close friends who host a fantastic
party right under the umbrella of the blasts.
Sophie loves the feeling of being so close to fireworks that it rattles
her body – and while Katie must have earplugs in for the big finish, (she is my daughter) she enjoys the party. Sure,
my family could just go to the party without me –but I get worried that in such a crowed scene,
Cliff and I need to have one-on-one defense to keep an eye on the girls in this
situation. I feel better thinking that
my presence will magically protect my children from an errant missile exploding
in their vicinity.
I also can’t resist
good party –and this one is filled with delish food, interesting people, and
the greatest game imported from the mid-west…Cornhole! Basically it’s bean bag toss, but the
fourteen year old boy in everyone can’t resist the endless jokes of, “I’m next
to Cornhole!”, “Wow, you are an amazing Cornholer.” "You just missed the Cornhole!" The Cornhole jokes never stop.
I hate to miss out on a good time with
rockin’ friends. (hmmm, maybe that was part of the problem in college…).
Maybe in a past life I was killed in the French Revolution
and I am trying to work out some karma.
No comments:
Post a Comment