Monday, July 4


I grew up in the woods. I know there are many people who would assume that Southern California doesn't have any woods . . . but I assure you, it does. This means I am somewhat conflicted when it comes to fireworks. Living where 1 spark will set large chunks of your community ablaze can do that. Particularly when your dad is the Fire Captain for said community.

My husband has no such conflict. He grew up (maybe 20 miles but worlds away) in a subdivision where kids played with sparklers and every block had it's own fireworks display.

Needless to say this is an area where we don't always see eye to eye.

He thought it was cute that I held a sparkler for the first time at our first 4th of July together. He rolls his eyes when I forgo the 'privilege' of lighting the next fountain. And he shook his head when I was hesitant to hand our young son (Elroy, maybe 3 or 4 years old at the time) a lit sparkler even under supervision.

I know he really doesn't see what the big deal is. For him it's a right of passage. To be old enough to be trusted with setting up or lighting fireworks is a big deal in his family.

For me . . .well, for me 4th of July meant going to a large city sponsored show with my mom and siblings, worrying about my dad (who was on call at the fire station) and hoping that some firebug hadn't managed to set the mountain on fire so we could still get home.

So, tonight we'll grill and enjoy the warm night and the show with friends and family, and I'll quietly hope that when the man I love plays with fire, he won't get burned.

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