A warm, sunny day. A cookout with family and friends. Explosives.
What could go wrong?
Michigan, in its infinite wisdom, legalized projectile fireworks last year. Nothing makes me feel more safe and secure than the knowledge that lethal explosives are in the hands of people I normally wouldn't trust to hold a glow stick.
My husband and I were gathered at my sister-in-law's sister's house (or is it my brother-in-law's sister-in-law's?) for a family gathering on the Fourth of July. There were several children ranging in age from 4 to 7 months, and it was a great opportunity to let my 18-month-old play with other kids.
There were hotdogs and baked beans, potato salad and corn on the cob. There were children laughing and playing, sidewalk chalk, bubbles and swimming. And I'm sure I would have had a relaxing weekend if my son was not the most inquisitive, energetic child to walk the earth.
All that being said, what sets the Fourth apart from any other summer weekend is fireworks. I get all excited for any kind of fireworks. Perhaps it harkens back to the days when I was a kid and my grandpa would set off bottle rockets from the house to scare the geese off his lakefront property in Waterford. Or maybe I was so dazzled as a child by the fireworks display over the Detroit River — a joint production between Detroit and Windsor — that I get amped for more.
There's something about fireworks that makes you sit back in awe and smile at the splendor that is streaking across the night sky.
Until you have a toddler, of course.
What once was a guilty pleasure has become an anxious experience as I fretted over my little guy. Would he get too close? Would he try to touch something?
I held him in my lap as the show went off without a hitch. I started to relax as the seemingly tame sparks gently spilled out of the candle and never posed a threat. It was going much better than planned. I really was worried over nothing.
The family friend who was our fireworks engineer said it was time to light the last of the arsenal he brought. We all gathered one last time for another benign display.
The first projectile stunned most of us, shooting 15 feet into the tree above the sidewalk from which it was launched. It exploded and sent sparks whizzing throughout the branches, sending chunks of leaves and other debris onto the crowd below.
The womenfolk, seemingly startled out of their stunned silence, started screaming and running for cover, grabbing their respective children and hauling tail out of the "danger zone." Several blasts — and one long held breath by me — later, it finally was over.
At the end of the day, we survived and my frazzled nerves have another year to settle back down and I will have to force myself to bring my baby back for another "fun" display. If I had only known how stressful that was for my mother at one point, I never would have put her through it.
Happy Independence Day to me.
— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.
What could go wrong?
Michigan, in its infinite wisdom, legalized projectile fireworks last year. Nothing makes me feel more safe and secure than the knowledge that lethal explosives are in the hands of people I normally wouldn't trust to hold a glow stick.
My husband and I were gathered at my sister-in-law's sister's house (or is it my brother-in-law's sister-in-law's?) for a family gathering on the Fourth of July. There were several children ranging in age from 4 to 7 months, and it was a great opportunity to let my 18-month-old play with other kids.
There were hotdogs and baked beans, potato salad and corn on the cob. There were children laughing and playing, sidewalk chalk, bubbles and swimming. And I'm sure I would have had a relaxing weekend if my son was not the most inquisitive, energetic child to walk the earth.
All that being said, what sets the Fourth apart from any other summer weekend is fireworks. I get all excited for any kind of fireworks. Perhaps it harkens back to the days when I was a kid and my grandpa would set off bottle rockets from the house to scare the geese off his lakefront property in Waterford. Or maybe I was so dazzled as a child by the fireworks display over the Detroit River — a joint production between Detroit and Windsor — that I get amped for more.
There's something about fireworks that makes you sit back in awe and smile at the splendor that is streaking across the night sky.
Until you have a toddler, of course.
What once was a guilty pleasure has become an anxious experience as I fretted over my little guy. Would he get too close? Would he try to touch something?
I held him in my lap as the show went off without a hitch. I started to relax as the seemingly tame sparks gently spilled out of the candle and never posed a threat. It was going much better than planned. I really was worried over nothing.
The family friend who was our fireworks engineer said it was time to light the last of the arsenal he brought. We all gathered one last time for another benign display.
The first projectile stunned most of us, shooting 15 feet into the tree above the sidewalk from which it was launched. It exploded and sent sparks whizzing throughout the branches, sending chunks of leaves and other debris onto the crowd below.
The womenfolk, seemingly startled out of their stunned silence, started screaming and running for cover, grabbing their respective children and hauling tail out of the "danger zone." Several blasts — and one long held breath by me — later, it finally was over.
At the end of the day, we survived and my frazzled nerves have another year to settle back down and I will have to force myself to bring my baby back for another "fun" display. If I had only known how stressful that was for my mother at one point, I never would have put her through it.
Happy Independence Day to me.
— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.
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