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For pure holiday excitement, nothing beats a good Fourth of July. What other holiday can you risk blowing your hand off? I grew up in Missouri. Missouri, and indeed much of the nation, had no laws against consumers buying and/or possessing fireworks in those days. There were firework stands that would spring up all over the place starting the last week of June.
At first, Mom would only let my brother and I have sparklers. As I look back, sparklers were the most dangerous firework there was. I mean, anything else is either designed for you to throw away from yourself, or designed to be lit and then ran away from. A sparkler is a spark and heat throwing stick that you held in your hand. What the hell is that all about? I mean, most moms would say, "don't play with that wire, you'll poke an eye out!" But if you put flammable material on a piece of wire and light it so it throws sparks all over, then it's safe.
Eventually, my brother and I moved into the world of bottle rockets. Bottle rockets have to be about the coolest thing ever invented. At first we used a (duh) bottle to launch them straight up into the air. But that got boring quickly. So we started leaning the bottle over, laying the bottle on the ground. Spinning the bottle (not like that) so it would fire in a random direction. Ha, we laughed, it sure is funny when one of us or one of the kids next door have to run when a bottle rocket goes off in their direction. That little bit of insight led to the Great Bottle Rocket Wars of '71-'74. Every June we'd scrape up our cash and beg dad to take us to the firework stands to try to corner the market on bottle rockets. Then off to the store for a brand new whiffle ball set. Each bright yellow whiffle ball bat is a single molded piece of plastic. Molded is the key word here because the whiffle ball bat molding process leaves a small hole at each end of the bat. A hole that is the perfect size to hold the stick of a bottle rocket. Because, you see, the whiffle ball bat makes the perfect bottle rocket rifle. Instead of lighting the bottle rocket and tossing in the general direction of your intended target (victim), you could seriously aim the trajectory while still maintaining a relatively safe distance from the spark emitting end of the bottle rocket. This improvement in backyard firework warfare caused many a great battle.
But the single greatest battle technique I have ever personally witnessed did not involve a bottle rocket rifle. Instead, it was the result of a well coordinated two man stealth attack on an unsuspecting combatant. A combatant hiding in a metal garbage can that was behind our garage. I watched the whole thing from my own hiding place. It could have easily been me. I don't remember the name of that long ago victim. But I do remember the perpetrators. Gary Schaffer and Pat Sale were two of the older neighborhood kids. I knew there was someone in the garbage can. But as I was looking at the garbage can, I was distracted by something entering my line of sight from above. Gary was up on the roof our our garage slowly creeping towards the edge overhanging the garbage cans. I watched him light two bottle rockets at the same time and let them fall into the garbage can. From nowhere, Pat came around the corner of the garage, garbage can lid in hand and slammed the lid down on the can. Time seemed to stand still. The yells mixed in with that phzzzzt sound that comes from a bottle rocket suddenly igniting. The garbage can tipped over, but the lid held. Finally, two loud bangs reverberated from inside the metal can.
The battlefield was eerily quiet. All eyes were on the shiny silver garbage can. It rolled slightly once, twice. And then the lid popped off. And the look on the face of the kid crawling out of that battered garbage can is still one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life.
War is hell, kids. But this kind of combat flashback I can live with.
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