I wonder, on average, how long it takes a normal kid to break all the rules printed on the outside of a fireworks package? For example, the warning label on a package of Black Cats warns people to:
- Always purchase your fireworks from reliable sources.
- Follow instructions and use common sense.
- Always have close adult supervision and never give fireworks to small children.
- Never point or throw fireworks at another person.
- Use outdoors only in a clear area away from buildings, vehicles and shrubbery. Have water handy.
- Never carry fireworks in your pocket or shoot them in metal or glass containers.
- Light only one firework at a time. Wear eye protection and never have any portion of your body over the firework.
- Don’t experiment with homemade fireworks and never attempt to relight a firework.
I can honestly say that, except for the part about homemade fireworks, I’ve broken every rule on that list. I guess it depends on whether or not you consider buying a bag full of fireworks that “had been lit but didn’t go off” for pennies on the dollar from the older kids in the neighborhood a “reliable source.” But every other rule on that list, yeah, I can remember blatantly disregarding. In fact, we may have actually looked at the warning labels just to get ideas about what to try next.
“It says here, don’t set off fireworks in metal of glass containers.”
“I wonder why not?”
Light. Hiss. BOOM. Ouch. Pause.
“COOL!”
If there was a rule, we broke it. Keeping fireworks away from vehicles and shrubbery? We routinely lined up our little plastic green army men and attacked them with Lady Fingers and such. Avoiding metal and glass? Who hasn’t set off a Cherry Bomb underneath a coffee can just to see how high it’ll fly? And not launching a pop bottle rocket from inside a pop bottle just seems lazy. Anyone suggesting you only light one firework at a time has never run screaming from a brick of Black Cats that’s just been lit. As for wearing eye protection or having a bucket of water handy … nope, I don’t think I ever saw those two things nearby.
For a long time we avoided breaking the “do not shoot fireworks at other people” rule. At least intentionally. Sure, there was always a chance that an errant jumping jack or pop bottle rocket could misfire and zoom directly toward someone, and I can remember dozens of small firecrackers being lit and thrown at my feet just to make me dance (I was quite the dancer), but for the most part we didn’t intentionally aim fireworks at one another.
That was, until 1990.
As a kid I had heard stories about kids having “Roman Candle Fights.” I had never seen one of these fights mind you, but I had heard stories from kids about kids who knew other kids who had been involved in them. Oddly, I never heard of any rules associated with these wars. I suppose the guy that gets burned the first (or the worst) loses. Some games just don’t need a lot of rules.
By the summer of 1990, I had been drawing a steady paycheck from Mazzio’s Pizza for almost a year and, with no bills to speak of, had plenty of disposable income. I must’ve been the one to suggest having a Roman Candle Fight that summer, or at least first mentioned the subject, and I remember the banter quickly turning from joking to a more serious tone. Most of my friends with any common sense (rule number two on the Black Cat label) opted out; that left me, Jeff Martin, and Bill Fisher. I don’t think Jeff has “that’s not a good idea” in his vocabulary, so I knew he would be in. And Bill … well, Bill probably wanted to get shot with fireworks as much as the rest of us wanted to shoot him. Bill was odd.
The date was set for the weekend following the 4th of July, our reasoning being we could scoop up whatever fireworks didn’t sell after the Fourth at a hefty discount. That may have been the only part of this entire adventure where we actually used our brains.
After purchasing the large bundle of Roman Candles, we split the pile three ways. Everybody got fifteen or twenty Roman Candles and a lighter. Jeff took his bundle and walked next door to the Deckard’s mailbox. Bill took refuge in the Roark’s driveway, while I stood in my own. A crowd of neighborhood kids (and a few curious parents) took shelter behind some cars. Someone yelled “GO!” and the three of us all lit our Roman Candles and began running toward one another.
“The rules are, there ain’t no rules,” to quote Grease, although prior to beginning we did begrudgingly agree on two: “no intentionally shooting people in the face”, and “stop shooting someone if they are on fire.” But there weren’t any rules, other than those. There were no points, no goals, no winners or losers — just a few teenagers shooting fire at one another. Sounded good at the time.
Each of us had different techniques. Jeff would bob and weave as he came at you, attempting to dodge incoming fire whiling aiming to land a good shot (a technique he learned playing Photon Laser Tag, no doubt). I was more of a “wait until everybody else is reloading and then attack” kind of guy. And then there was Bill, who would run straight at you, emptying his entire Roman Candle in your direction, and then shout “TIME OUT!” when he was out of shots. It only took a few times of this before Jeff and I teamed up on Bill, who at this point had removed his shirt so it “wouldn’t catch on fire.” After shouting “TIME OUT!” one too many times, Jeff and I both lit new magic fireball sticks and cornered Bill up against the Roark’s garage, where we repeatedly pelted his bare back with alternating shots of red and green fire as he begged for mercy and kept yelling “TIME OUT!”
It felt good. It felt real good.
We learned a few things about buying old fireworks that day. For example, when holding and firing a tube of Roman Candles, one should hold them out to the side away from one’s body. Roman Candles occasionally backfire; either Bill or Jeff (I can’t remember which) learned this when the end of his Roman Candle gave way and began to backfire, shooting balls of fire directly at his own crotch. We also learned that fireworks bought at the end of the season have less of a chance of going off than other fireworks. More than once we would light a stick and run toward our opponent, only to hear the fuse fizzle and suddenly realize you’re unarmed.
There were no losers that day … or depending on your point of view, we all were. :) Either way, before that day, many of us had heard about Roman Candle Fights, but none of us had ever seen one. By nighfall, all the neighbors had seen one, and three of us had been in one. If ever there were truly a miracle, it’s that my friends and I still have all our fingers and toes at this point.
Happy Fourth of July, everybody!