Rent-a-Kid

The Fourth of July is probably my favorite holiday.

My gifts and intelligence are geared toward the martial (and marshal). I was raised to be patriotic, and as a Christian and an American, I hold the sacrifices of the body Military as personal and individual, just as I hold my own sacrifices of service.

So being an important holiday, finding myself somewhat alone is …offputting. Disturbing. …Lonesome.

Don’t get me wrong. I have friends, and I’ve been invited over to a couple’s home for their annual 4th of July party. But I RSVP as One Person Attending. And I know, most of the people there will be tipsy and noisy and generally having their version of a good time. While I will be deeply introverted, absorbed in my own private reverie of the real meaning of the holiday, and my own private pursuance of keeping that meaning alive, etc ad nauseum.

And I am alone in that. And I understand and expect it, but its still lonely.

Likewise, while I have a rough-tote full of fireworks in my garage, I do not set them off. It seems like a waste for me to walk outside, blow up three dollars and go back inside. The lighting of fireworks, to have significance for me, must be a shared experience.

So I was both surprised and pleased when April text’d me yesterday to ask if she could make me dinner this evening.

At 6pm, she shows up with a basket of ingredients and her two kids, J (5) and C (4), and she set to work immediately with preheating the oven and getting the food prepped while I set about to entertain her kids. This even included a five-minute serious talk to C about what Respect means, and why its important to stop licking someone when they say stop.

After about 30 minutes, they are bored. I blew up some punching balloons for them, but they are not good at sustaining their own entertainment, and I was running out of toys (I really don’t have much backup material). Then I remembered, “Hey, its fireworks season! Hey, I have a box of them out in the garage!”

So for the next 30 minutes, while the casserole cooked, the three of us lit firecrackers out in the street in front of the house.

J and C’s mom is terrified of fireworks and all things fire, to the point of buying decorator candles for her home, but she never lights them. April has only just learned to use a lighter in the last two years! That being said, this was only C and J’s second experience with firecrackers.

I was very thorough in explaining safety procedures and in making them use an established pattern for how to take turns lighting one firecracker at a time, always knowing where their punk is (the punk is the stick of cellulose which when lit with a match continues to smolder allowing additional fireworks to be lit — other places may call it something else..), how to watch for cars, and so on.

As they were each into their 10th firecracker, I hollered, “Bike coming!” A 10 year old girl rolled to a stop in front of our driveway. “Are you guys lighting fireworks? Can I watch?” We introduced ourselves all the way around.

Her name is Kaylee. She’s from about two blocks up. She explained that her dad wouldn’t let her light any of her fireworks tonight, and that he even got mad that she was using her snap-poppers. She asked if she could light some. I was cautious, “I dunno. If your dad doesn’t want you lighting them, I don’t want to get you in trouble if he found out you were lighting them here”.

“Oh, its all right,” she explained, “he doesn’t care if I’m lighting anyone elses. He just doesn’t want me to light mine.”

When later she talked about all the great new outfits her mom just bought her from the Salvation Army store, I began to assume that they didn’t have an abundance of fireworks in their home, and her dad wanted to save what they had for tomorrow.

I lit a punk just for her, and she began to light stuff off right along with April’s kids. And, she began teaching them the bad habits that older children have, like lighting multiples, lighting impulsively (without letting everyone else know you are lighting something), running while carrying burning sticks, and so on.

I smiled. I was having every parent’s nightmare. And these weren’t even my kids.

April came out and sat and watched for a few minutes, until she couldn’t take it anymore, then she went back inside. A few minutes later, she called out that dinner was ready (again, its like “instant wife”). I hollered back, “Okay, they will each light one more and then we’ll be in.”

“Kaylee, have you eaten?” She had not, and I barely started to invite her before she had accepted. “I’m not sure you should come inside to eat with us, though. Not until your mom has met me and all.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, “I have lots of friends that my mom doesn’t even know, and I go in their homes all the time.”

That’s reassuring. *smile*

In any case, she followed J and C into the house, April fixed her a plate, and we all went back outside to eat. After the eating came more fireworks. Kaylee opened up more and more and even had a screaming contest (“Want to hear the loudest scariest scream in the world?”). I even joined in. It was a hoot!

Kaylee was definitely into the fireworks. I was bringing out small sets of things to light up, from the large box in the garage. Kaylee quickly figured out where the big box was, and asked about some of the larger or different items. This of course drew J and C’s attention, too. Most of these were night works, and it was too daylight to use them. But I, too, would like to have seen them lit up.

Shortly, April and kids had to leave. She had another gathering to go to at 10pm, and so she left around 8:30 so she could go home, clean up and change before heading out again. Kaylee told them bye, and hung out.

I called her mother.

“Mrs. Post? I’m Parradoxx, I’m down on the corner of Street and Road. Kaylee has been here lighting off fireworks with some friends — and she’s just fine. She’s not hurt and she’s not been a bother, in fact she’s been quite fun. She’s asked if she could stay and set off some of the night fireworks, and its fine with me if its fine with you.”

I agreed I’d send her home around 10pm.

It doesn’t get “dark” here until around 9:30. So I had to find a way to stall. I took the dishes back into the house, and Kaylee followed. “WOW, you’ve got like a bunch of movies!! Do you have any scary ones, like ‘The Hills Have Eyes’??” Which, I think is a rather scary movie to show a ten year old, myself being one of the generation that won’t swim in deep water because of “Jaws”.

“No, I don’t have too many scary movies. Let me see if I have any that might be…” I have my stall tool. “How about ‘War of the Worlds’?”

“EEeewh, Tom Cruise! He’s old…”

“Okay, how about…”

“Nawh, too old.”

“Okay,” I probe, “who do you want to see in a movie?”

I would like to tell you whom she said, but I had honestly not heard of any of them. Obviously, I’m too old.

Eventually, I picked “Independence Day”. “This might be a little scary, lets find out.”

I took it outside with my laptop, and made a table of the big fireworks box which I brought from the garage. Kaylee just prattled away constantly while I kept skipping chapters ahead in the movie, just stopping on the good parts. About the time when the President gives his motivational speech, I got up and lit a punk in the fading dusk.

Then I startled Kaylee with a roman candle that actually drew neighbors from their home. I gave her the punk and brought up “God Bless the USA” in iTunes, plus a couple of other patriotic tunes.

We lit nightworks until 10pm, with Kaylee doing a promoter’s banter between lightings, the entire neighborhood her stage. Particularly my neighbor across the street who brought out her 3 year old granddaughter to sit on their front stoop and watch fireworks for the first time — Kaylee’s show.

When we lit off a 100 string of Jumping Jacks (a known waste, as they blow each other to bits before they ever get lit up, but it was something Kaylee wanted to see) as our finale, Kaylee ran for safety in the neighbors drive, and we stood and chatted for a few minutes before I chided Kaylee, “Okay, its after ten, time to get you home.”

“Can I take some with me??” This was not her first time asking. I had already gently explained that asking for a gift was really not a good thing to do, and that her mother would probably be embarrassed if she found out Kaylee had done so.

“Tell your mom that I gave them to you since I said I won’t be here for you to come over tomorrow night”, I lied.

I retrieved a plastic shopping sack from the kitchen and dropped in a pack of roman candles, a pack of Colorful Flowers, and a couple 10 packs of Jumping Jacks.

“I’m really kinda worried,” she offered spontaneously”, “its really kind of dark out. I’m afraid I might get run over or carted off.”

“I have an answer for that,” and I removed my 20-speed from the garage.

Together we rode up two blocks, to find her mother standing in the driveway, watching their dog which she had apparently just let out for walkis.

“Hey mom, this is the man I was lighting fireworks with. HEY — did YOU light off fireworks?”

“Yes,” her mother answered, “I was bored and you weren’t here…”

“Dad’s gonna be mad! Those were mine,” shouted Kaylee!

“I don’t think you paid for them,” was all her mom said.

Kaylee thanked me again for the fireworks, and said she’d be back. I told her she was welcome anytime, and that I had a great time.

And I meant it.