Firecrackers

            Fireworks were allowed when I was a boy. By fireworks, I mean firecrackers. There were Roman Candles, Cherry Bombs, and the Burning Schoolhouse, but they were never worth the money as far as I could see. But firecrackers were a delight. They came in a bright red and yellow package with all the fuses woven together so that you had to unravel them if you wanted to set them off one by one or, if you were in the money, you could just light the woven fuse and set the whole thing off banging one after the other. I think firecrackers were 5 or 10 cents a package at Henry's Store on the corner of Austin and Hillcrest. Lady Fingers were a little less and you could buy a punk for a penny.

            For those of you for whom fireworks were banned by the ladies safety league, a punk is just like a stick of incense having just enough spark to light a fuse when you blew on it. The punk stayed in the corner of your mouth when you rummaged in your pocket full of loose firecrackers. I suspect that was why firecrackers were ultimately banned - some kid, in an unthinking moment, reached for a firecracker with the punk in his hand. 

            Fireworks today means the Fire Department raising $15,000 in donations and then setting up a display on the dock at Kalamalka Lake on Halloween or July 1. But really, that is like watching TV. Firecrackers, when I was a kid, was the hands-on real thing. The smell of the powder, the lit fuse burning in your fingers, the thrill of letting it fly  before it went off, and then that boom. Sweet.