Things that go BOOM in the night
July 6th, 2008 | 
Author: I had every intention of going to one of the fireworks shows that were within 7 miles of where I live. That was, until I decided to buy my own and rain down cardboard shrapnel on all my neighbors.
My teenage son (peer pressure is an ugly thing) talked me into buying a few fireworks since they were readily available here in South Carolina and he’d never really gotten to shoot any off. I’m not sure whether it was the excitement in his voice or that evil devil on my shoulder, but I was easily talked into the escapade.
After snaking my way through the parking lot I entered the gunpowder megamart where hundreds of other shoppers were eagerly looking for high grade ordinance to light up the night sky. It wasn’t hard. The shelves were lined with munitions with dangerous and seductive names like “Lock and Load”, “Crazy Cowboy”, “Solar Shower” and “Artillery Shells”. We did a lap of the store just to get a lay of the land and quickly became overwhelmed, almost dizzy with the choices that lay before us. And each box of fuse ignited wonderment was “Buy One Get One Free”. Oh, such decadent words…
A young sales clerk came up and excitedly asked if I needed help. “I want something that will go a hundred feet in the air and scare the crap out of my neighbors” I retorted with a smile. Unphased he lead me to the “Elite 8” a heavy munitions packaged loaded with 8 shells guaranteed to shoot 200 feet in the air, set off car alarms and scare my neighbors just like I asked.
I had to have it.
He cautioned me to save it for the finale since all other fireworks would pale in comparison once I had savored its mighty explosive fury.
I loaded up on filler pieces of Artillery Shells, Crazy Cowboys, bricks of Black Cats and various other pyrotechnics and lured me with their spellbinding names. We’ll skip over how much it all cost and simply get to the part when I get it home and with giddy excitement prepared for launch.
My son and I watched some of the other displays going off in the neighborhood and there is no denying they were impressive. Huge showers of color and explosions like a testing range filled the night sky. These were not the fireworks I recall from youth when we snuck across the border into Wyoming where they were legal and loaded up on Black Cats, pop bottle rockets and the mother of them all, the M80.
The M80 paled in comparison to what I had in my possession now. I had mortar shells with foot long fuses and launching tubes! I had shiny V8 sized canisters of gunpowder ready to screaming into the night sky.
Oh the trepidation of lighting that first fuse.
We did as instructed and went with the small munitions first, the artillery shells. The discharge was impressive as it burst out of the launcher and propelled itself to about 75 feet above us before exploding a vibrant array of color. It was indeed a wicked grin across my face.
We sent volley after volley into the air, each shell and cowboy adding to excitement. My son and I were beside ourselves with our accomplishments. And then we were at the last box. The mother of them all, the Elite 8.
The shells were lined up and we unwrapped the fuses. I was going to light the first one just to see how it went. The fuse worked down quickly and as I sped away to a safe distance there was an ear-splitting explosion behind me. I stopped in my tracks and looked up. At least 200 feet in the air it detonated in a stunning display of color at least 100 feet wide. My son and I stood there in there in silence staring at each other. Then we burst into laughter as we heard the cardboard debris hitting the roof of the house, the street and even us.
We both ran back to the sidewalk to light another one. This time I let my son have a try. We darted for cover as the fuse ignited and the shell took off with earth shaking velocity.
Again there was a thunderous explosion and streaks of color across the night. And again we giggled as we heard the debris falling back to earth.
We launched our final salvo into the air and congratulated ourselves on the display we’d put on. We didn’t set off a car alarm, but then again, no one was foolish enough to leave their car in the street.
With broom in hand we cleaned up our mess and tried to make it look like we didn’t live in a demilitarized zone. My son and I laughed as we found burnt cardboard all over the street. He’d never seen anything like it, and I’d never had a hand in setting off such things.
I have now started my heavy ordinance fund for next year and have put the “Elite 8” on my Christmas list for this year. I wonder if they have a layaway plan?
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