With a title like that, you’re probably thinking I’m going to touch on topics like the brave men and women who serve in our military, the threat of terrorism or explore what it means to be an American today. Those are all incredibly important issues which deserve our time and thought – but, right now, I’m talking about fireworks.
With the Fourth of July just in our rearview, it brought up memories of near misses in years passed, and upon reflection, I feel fortunate to have all of my limbs intact.
My dad and brother love the Fourth of July. They enjoy scouring fireworks stands for the biggest and baddest booms, as well as the mostly overlooked, quirky explosives to ensure an entertaining pyrotechnic display when the sun goes down. They also love a little bit of danger, and occasionally – and this is not recommended, so don’t try it at home – customizing firecrackers to make their own. This means something louder and brighter, and usually more unpredictable, than your run-of-the-mill sparkler, black cat or fountain.
The amount of miles I’ve ran during bottle rocket and roman candle wars over the years would make my Fitbit explode – it’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
I’ve successfully and unsuccessfully dodged snappers, chased down parachute men, blackened the sidewalk with snakes and colored the grass with smoke bombs, gasped in horror as giant, flaming lanterns lift off into the stratosphere, and, yes, hid behind my granny when a custom firecracker explodes mere feet away.

It’s all in good fun, and believe it or not, there is some degree of safety implied. We know to respect the cranial and eye region, and if someone’s really not having it – they can enjoy the fireworks through a window from the safety of my parents’ home.
One year, nearly a decade ago, I was feeling particularly brave and stupid and decided to try a trick my brother had been performing all night – throwing an “artillery shell.”
Artillery shells are the iconic Fourth of July fireworks. The huge, multi-colored splash of sparks across the sky that caps off any great celebration of our country’s independence.
My brother, instead of shooting the artillery shells from the designated tube, was using his arm to launch them into the air – which provided the audience a much closer look at the display.
He suggested I try, and for some reason, I did. However, after receiving instructions from him and “practicing”, I still managed to mess up.
Jake said I should throw the firework when the fuse was about an inch long so it didn’t hit the ground before it exploded. I didn’t account for the amount of time it would take me to arch my arm back, and began the process of throwing when the fuse was dangerously stumpy.
This meant the artillery shell blew up a few feet from my face, burned off my eyelashes, eyebrow and part of my hair on my right side.
Once my brother knew I was OK, he thought it was hilarious. I was more or less stunned – by the explosion and my own sheer lack of judgment.
Fortunately, I had a job interview later that week. I’m not sure what they thought of me, but I did get hired.
Hope you all had a safe Fourth of July.