I hate loud noises. Balloons popping. Guns shooting. Fireworks exploding. Give me a nice quiet evening. I’m good with that.
Every July 4th is a challenge. Since I was a little kid, I’ve spent July 4th with my hands firmly clasped over my ears. This year was no different.
My nephews’ fireworks were fantastic. Bursting blossoms, red, white and blue sizzles, and rainbow fountains filled the night sky. I kinda wish there had been more sparklers, though.
They’re pretty quiet.
I leaned against the car and looked up, “Ooooing” and “Ahhhing.” Finally, I decided I’d seen (and heard) enough. I escaped to put a pillow over my ears and read a good book.
“Where ya going, Aunt Laurie?”
“Invite me back when you can put a silencer on those things.”
By Saturday, the beautiful explosions were just scattered rockets and paper littering our country road in Missouri. “Clean up the mess, boys,” my sister told her sons. The young men came back with paper bags of litter. I told you I hate loud noises, but, truth be told, I love fires. I had just started a big one by the river. Burning trash is my specialty.
“Here’s more trash, Aunt Laurie.” My nephews innocently handed me their July 4 refuse.
Did I detect a suspicious glance between the two? Oh, never mind.
The first shot rang out from below a burning cereal box. I howled and jumped. Did I hear laughter from across the river?
Suddenly, sparks began to fly in the embers. Pops and bursts shot colorful lights from the coals. I danced my way around the rocky shore hooting and hollering with each new explosion. I’m sure I looked like I was doing some ancient tribal move: The Dance of the Loud Noise Loser.
An audience across the river was rolling with laughter. I was laughing too. My nephews had gotten me. A good one.
I will never forget this past July 4. I hate loud noises, but I love a good laugh.