Independence Day and Flashback

There are two days of the year when Americans act like crazed Savages.

New Years Day, and Independence Day.

This is the second of those days, and my neighborhood sounds like a war zone.

It's the fireworks.

Usually, I don't mind loud noises.  Hell, I spend as much time as I can on a firing range, contributing to the general miasma of Gunsmoke.  Sometimes I look around for James Arness, but he's not there, so .. I expect the noise and the light and the smell.

But when all of my neighbors are shooting off fireworks, sometimes I get that "Flashback" thingie.

I can handle the strings of firecrackers, although too often it sounds like a squad initiating an ambush with their M16s.

The big aerial bombs, though, they sound like the CRUMP! of a B52 strike from a distance.  Sometimes like claymore mines, or even hand grenades.  It depends on how far away they are when they go off.

This is the one day a year when it gets me.

I've learned that it's easier to handle if I go outside and watch the displays .... at least it helps me to put the noises and the flashes of light into the perspective.  I tell myself: "It's okay, it's just fireworks.  people are having fun.  Relax and enjoy it."

A few years ago a group of folks who enjoy shooting together in USPSA matches gathered at a friend's house for a Fourth of July celebration.  After dinner, we gathered at the curb while the host set off fireworks.   I recall that, when a string of firecrackers went off, The Hobo Brasser (a certified Chief Range Officer) was counting off:

Two Alpha, Two Alpha, Two Alpha ....

In the context, it was great.  It was fun, and fine, just good friends enjoying the display.



But several years a few decades ago (much closer to the end of my war-zone tour), I was working on the brakes of my car in the drive way of my home, and the folks across the street started setting off fireworks.  This was on the third of July, and I was not prepared for it.

I was outraged, and frightened.  So I grabbed my tire iron and advanced across the street, threatening to beat this guys into bloody mush if he didn't stop doing that!

"What, you're going to jack me off?" he responded.

I looked down at my hand, and realized that instead of grabbing the tire iron I had grabbed the jack.  Which was just a little too big to be an effective weapon.

That was when I realized that I wasn't being entirely rational about this.  So I asked him to please stop shooting off fireworks, he in turn suggested several forms of physically impossible sexual relationships that I might consider, and I stalked back to my house with my dignity shattered.

Well, I guess that it's a sign of maturity to have your irrationality thrown back in your face, and then quietly retire from the field.  It didn't sound very mature to me at the time, though.

So now, when the fireworks start, I take a big deep breath, pour myself a large glass of Who Hit John, and go into my drive way to observe the festivities.

I think this is progress.

But I still don't like it .. although I DO like fireworks.

Just .. not in my back yard.