THE WAY WE WERE

It's the Fourth of July, Independence Day, which we usually celebrate by exploding things in the sky. When I was a kid we'd go down to Wellfleet, Cape Cod where my grandparents had a summer home. Friends and neighbors would congregate in the backyard which was the best-bar-none spot to watch fireworks set off from Cannon Hill, right across a narrow inlet of water. Dads would drink Ballantine Ale and moms would help their kids roast marshmallows and we'd all watch the fireworks and it was pretty spectacular. The next morning my older brother Alec and I would trek across the rickety Uncle Tim's Bridge and collect unexploded ordinance. The gunpowder inside was rich and black and very good for personal projects.

Upon returning to tranquil Cohasset, Alec and I would set about making bombs. He was much better at it than I. One of our favorite methods was to take a cardboard tube off a coat hanger, insert powder, plug with cotton, wire the ends shut and drill a little hole to stick underwater fuse in. Another variation was filling one end of the tube with sand which made for better throwing velocity. We also used to tape our homemade bombs to arrows and let fly. Once Alec managed to shoot a bomb-arrow all the way across our front field – it stuck in the side of our neighbor's house and blew a hole in the wall. The firemen came and our parents actually made us go offer an apology. Seriously?

My brother was also skilled at making contact explosive which was a powdery mixture that was perfectly safe when damp, but volatile when dry. He used to leaves traces of it everywhere for fun, like out on the porch where it would cause mayhem when my mom came out to sweep in her bathrobe. She wasn't real pleased about that. Another time he almost blew his thumb off drying the mixture on a light bulb. He lied and said he'd  dropped a mini-bike engine on his hand and was taken to the doctor for repairs.

For some reason we bailed on Wellfleet one year and ate pizza instead and made plans to go to Nantasket Beach in Hull for the fireworks except I fell asleep and my parents couldn't wake me so we didn't go. When I was 13 my parents split up. Me and my mom and my brother and our cat and dog spent the summer zig-zagging across the country in a VW camper van, headed to California and a new life. We celebrated the Fourth of July somewhere in the Midwest where fireworks were aplenty. Alec and I made some campground friends and we all threw M-80's and cherry bombs at each other. Kids, do not try this at home. 

During my adult life there were a number of fun celebratory things to do including hanging outside the Wilshire Country Club and watching fireworks or going to a Dodgers home game. After the 9th inning people were allowed onto the infield and you could sit and surreptitiously rip shreds of amazingly lush green grass from the ground as hanging clusters and magnificent bombs exploded overhead. These days I live in Austin and haven't tossed a firecracker at anyone in years. It all seems part of a distant life altogether although there are those who still try and keep old traditions alive. You really can't go home again.