You’ve probably already heard the fireworks as the Fourth of July approaches. If you have dogs, they’ve already leaped under the bed as your neighbors begin their explosive amateur hour that inevitably ends up with an emergency room visit.
Growing up, the Fourth of July fireworks display was the one time our entire town got together. We’d gather at the beach, spread out our blankets and watch the lifeguards try to keep people from swimming. In the old days before people cared about human life, the fireworks were set off on the beach itself. The burning cinders from the big ones would land among us if the wind was right, and the roof of the pavilions would be scarred with black streaks the next morning. A visit to the restroom meant a long, winding path through irritated citizenry as you struggled to avoid spilling drinks or stepping on others in the dark. (The irritation increased exponentially on the return trip.) In short, there were few bathroom breaks on this night.