Demolition Man
For some guys? The Fourth of July is All About the Boom
The Fourth of July is drawing near, and with it comes a time for all Americans to celebrate our independence. It’s a unique holiday where we wrap ourselves in red, white, and blue to express our love for the good ol’ USA. Naturally, for folks from our area, that usually coincides with a little bit of beer drinking and barbecuing.
And for most Midwest men, it’s also an excuse to blow stuff up. Big time.
It’s not clear when pyromania started coinciding with this July jamboree, but several historians believe it’s been a part of every Independence Day since the very first one, in 1777. Today, it has not only become a tradition, but it’s also an expensive investment.
According to a cursory online search, the average home in the United States spends about $100 a year on fireworks. And it’s certainly higher here in the St. Louis area; I see that in my neighborhood. The people right down the street seemingly take out a second mortgage to purchase everything from firecrackers to fountains.
That’s when the fun begins. From Affton to Alton and from Belleville to Ballwin, men everywhere turn the evening into a Hoosier holiday happening. It typically starts slow, at dusk, with a string of firecrackers. The kids throw poppers at each other’s feet, while Mom ‘supervises’ them from a nearby lawn chair… with an old Cardinals’ beer cozy firmly in hand.
Somewhere across the yard, smokeballs fill the air with enough toxins to choke a horde of bees to death. A child cries as his brother heartlessly stomps out his last magic snake.
That’s when Dad takes over. And for lack of a better term, it’s also when boom goes the dynamite.
You know the type: He comes out, armed with enough explosives to obliterate a small island. Before long, Black Cats, bottle rockets, and brocades begin firing off, one right after the other. And then there’s always the ever-popular Roman Candle, which many fireworks enthusiasts treat as if it’s been blessed by the Pope himself. It’s become a staple product amongst all of this ear-splitting excitement.
With the preliminary pyro over, it’s time for Dad to pull out the big guns. Soon, Cosmic Comets begin an aerial assault on the atmosphere. Determined to get his money’s worth, our hero (?) begins not just mixing his fireworks, but his liquor, as well. While we certainly can’t condone blending tequila with TNT, it happens more often than not.
And no matter how much his wife tells him to be careful, he always relies on the same response: “Don’t worry, honey… I know what I’m doing.”
Near the end of the evening, Dad is ready for his grand finale. He’s going to launch enough multiple rockets and fountains simultaneously, in a manner that would put the VP Fair to shame. He’s hooked up his remaining arsenal to detonate all at the same time.
One hour and several powder burns later, he sits in the emergency room with his wife and kids. It seems our explosives expert would have been better off calling in a bomb squad. His hand, badly damaged, pales in comparison to his bruised ego. That’s when he musters up the gusto to address the family.
“I’m sorry we had to cut our Fourth of July celebration short, kids. But, I promise, I’ll make it even bigger and better next year!”
Ryan K Boman is a freelance writer and the author of the 2023 book, Pop Music & Peanut Butter: A Collection of Essays Looking at Like with Love & Laughter. His previous work has appeared at, MSN, Heavy, the Miami Herald, Screen Rant, FanSided, and Yardbarker. Follow him on X @RyanKBoman