Gimme the works

Among my favorite childhood memories are our annual trips to watch the 4th of July fireworks over the golf course at Sunnyside Country Club in Waterloo (No, we were not members of the country club, but they let the "riff-raff" in for fireworks every year.) The grass upon which we spread our blankets was green and lush, and Mom and Dad would always give my little brother and me a few packages of sparklers to burn through in the dusk as we waited for the show to begin. We got to stay up late. We usually stopped for ice cream afterward. When you're a kid, it doesn't get much better.

There were people all around us on blankets and in lawn chairs, but as a child I never even noticed them. Our family was in its own little world as the colored streaks slashed across the black sky and the Off! repellent kept our bony little ankles reasonably free of mosquito bites. Some years I, rife with sanguine patriotism, would just lie flat on my back on the plaid blanket and focus only on the bursts of pink, blue, and gold above me.

This year's trip to 4th of July fireworks reminded me very little of those placid nights at Sunnyside. This year, Ben and I camped out on an easement at 70th Street and Aurora Avenue in Des Moines. I felt decidedly not alone with the experience, as cars sputtered past us on the street to our right and gangs of teenagers stolled down the sidewalk to our the left, talking on cell phones and smoking Marlboros and yelling and definitely not paying any attention to or feeling any inspired patriotism from the fireworks above them. The dog on the blanket next to us either loved or wished to eat children, as every tot that passed was greeted with an ear-piercing bellow and hyperactive doggy dance. Ben commented on how the fireworks we were watching were probably made by children in Chinese sweatshops. Thanks for that, honey. He is the king of levity. Then a car squealed its tires and burst up to 65 miles per hour in the intersection behind us. Then another car drove by, with a teenaged girl hanging out the window, yelling: "Happy 4th of July, motherf$#@ers." And, to truly cap off the ambiance, each and every firework that burst into the sky above us was punctuated by some rednecks yelling "Woo-woo" at a nearby house party.

Ahhh, reality. Sometimes it's a real pain in the booty. So is sitting on uneven grass along a major Des Moines thoroughfare. Just saying is all.