Fireworks!

As Canada Day approached, I asked Peter, my blog assistant, if he would go with me to see a fireworks display somewhere in Toronto, so that I could give you a full report, dear readers. “Been there, done that.” was his answer. And then I got to thinking – so have I.

It all began on May 24 when I was in kindergarten. The neighbours on my street gathered together in a small park, 3 families including 9 kids. The fathers brought the fireworks and folding chairs, the moms brought the blankets and snacks for the kids, and there might have been a thermos or two with drinks for the adults. And Leo, the neighbourhood prankster, brought those tiny red firecrackers that he spent the night lighting and throwing behind unsuspecting victims, and being yelled at by his wife. The evening ended when the little red schoolhouse burned to the ground.

When my own kids were small, the fireworks display was still part of the May 24 weekend, the official beginning of summer. Families in our neighbourhood congregated in the school yard with our chairs and thermoses, and the local Boy Scout troop collected money in a hat and put on a show for about 50 of us, the kids cheering and waving their sparklers, and the adults enjoying their drinks.

As the kids grew into teen-agers, fireworks lost their allure, especially if the parents were supervising. But one year, when my son James was in his early twenties, we filled up my car with other young adults and headed to Ashbridge’s Bay for the fireworks exhibition there. The show was stunning – sparkling flashes of light and colour all around and above us. After the cheering died down, we made our way to our car and tried to go home. It took us a couple of hours to make a 20-minute journey; the next year nobody mentioned going again.

But for younger families now, fireworks have come back into fashion. Several occasions – New Year’s Eve, May 24 and Canada Day – all merit the expense of Black Cats, Lady Fingers, and M-80’s. Our grandchildren have acquired the love of the displays. Every summer during our family cottage week, one evening is devoted to eating s’mores, and singing camp songs. The evening ends with bangs – exploding rockets, a sky full of wonder. Peter and I stay awake as long as we can.

In our current neighbourhood, a display is mounted every year by one of the residents, at a 5-street intersection with a small grassy area in the middle. Neighbours gather to enjoy the summer evening and watch a half-hour show. This year, at around 10:00 pm, as the fireworks began to pop and hiss, Peter and I began getting ready for bed. Then I began to feel guilty. I could still write about fireworks, but I needed at least ONE picture. So I snuck outside to our back yard, wearing my nightie under over of darkness, and took this shot.

Nobody saw me except the mosquitos: I got 7 bites. My readers are worth it.

Sue