Do you have any childhood memories where the details are a bit fuzzy, but you specifically remember the emotion of the event? Allow me to share such a story:

One Fourth of July (I don’t think it was New Year’s Eve, b/c it wasn’t cold), my mom and I were sitting on the trunk of the car in the driveway and watching my brother and dad pop fireworks in the street. I already had a healthy respect for fireworks and preferred to keep my distance. I could be cajoled into lighting a sparkler, but that was about it. I had no interest in things that caught fire, exploded, or flew through the air.

I would run away as soon as I lit the fuse on a package of Blackcats, for cryin’ out loud. My little brother Nathan, on the other hand, had no fear. He would take part in bottle rocket contests with my boyfriend and his brothers to see who could launch them the farthest while holding the stem of the rocket! (This was the same kid who blew up things in the mailbox just to hear the kaboom and made God-only-knows-what in 2L bottles to launch in the street. It was Phineas & Ferb stuff, of course; he didn’t do it maliciously. He could have been a chemist or ordnance specialist, if he wanted to.)

Anyway, back to the story at hand. I was sitting on the trunk of the car, minding my own business – probably daydreaming about marrying Kirk Cameron or some such nonsense, when a wayward spinning bee (whatever it was called) decided to fly sideways – straight at my face!

I think I ducked; I don’t recall it actually hitting me (thus, the whole emotional memory vs. details). It did, however, solidify my intense fear of fireworks. So, although the boys are disappointed that we can’t pop fireworks within the city limits, I’m not the least bit upset about it. If the weather holds out, then we might go downtown tonight to see the display over the river. I’ll admit that fireworks are quite pretty … from a distance.