I have always liked fireworks, to a point.
I was one of those smiling kids who loved watching my brothers light rockets and throw cherry bombs. It was something I looked ahead to, and remembered fondly.
But, over the years, my fireworks fascination has dwindled. I love going to public displays which I consider safe and sound, but when the neighborhood resounds with endless blasts and fills with the smell of gunpowder, I get a little annoyed.
Particularly when it goes on for days before and after, until the last Power Blaster is lit and dies on the stained asphalt of our street.
What bothers me most is the danger with these fireworks. I have seen incidents and heard of accidents where the real menace of home displays has become tragic. To me, it isn't worth the while for the risk.
Some say fireworks resonate the sounds and sights of the Revolutionary War, but I am still to see a photo of a Minuteman with a sparkler, or a Virginia regular putting a string of firecrackers in a mailbox.
What home fireworks really represent is America's love for a party. We are, after all, a nation of holidayers and weekenders who love to play and you can't take the Roman candle away. I think there's something about that in the Second Amendment, too.