In Depends-Tents Day

Photo: John Kennan, BBC Liverpool

Another year has gone by, and the world (okay, the nation) still has not conformed to reality to call the holiday by its real name – Independence Day – but insist on calling it by the day on which the holiday falls.

And how was yours?

Mine was as low-key as I could make it, what with all manner of ordnance exploding around me! More on that a little later.

The suburb where I live, I've learned, has an annual Independence Day festival, which they call "The Fourth of July Festival," which ran this year from July 2 through today, July 6. I'm sure it's a nice festival, what with carnival rides and a beer tent and… well, I'm sure it was nice, but I don't know. I'm okay going into a restaurant and dining alone, but wandering through a carnival by my lonesome just seemed like it would be weird. So, without a date, I opted out.

A fairly popular event during the festival is the Independence Day Fourth of July Festival Independence Day Parade. Perhaps the neatest thing about it is that the parade goes right down the street where my apartment complex is. About a week before the festivities the city sent out notices to everyone at the complex that our street would be closed to all traffic from 8:00am until the parade was finished and the route was cleared of all debris and bodies, probably after 11:00am. But here's the rub: my apartment complex is situated between a creek and our road. The apartment complex's parking lots empty out onto the parade route only. So, essentially, unless I got up super early (for a holiday) and left before 8:00, or I wanted to watch a parade (yawn), I would be trapped in my own damn parking lot!

I contacted the apartment administration office about it, and they suggested I call the police department to find out where I might park my car Thursday overnight without fear of it being towed by the police. I did so, and they gave me the phone number to the village office. That number brought me to the Fourth of July Festival hotline and yielded a recorded message about all the neat happenings at this year's exciting Fourth of July Festival, and if I had any further questions about the festival, to call another number. I did so and reached yet another recorded message telling me that Ms. So and So was away from her desk (probably until Monday), but if I had any questions about all the neat happenings at this year's exciting Fourth of July Festival, I could call the village's Fourth of July Festival hotline….

Finally, after about 5 minutes on hold with the police department again, a burly-voiced sergeant told me I could probably park behind the big strip-mall a block or two away and across the street. Probably? After receiving his assurances that my car wouldn't be towed, I opted to get up super early (for a holiday) and find stuff to do in the morning away from the apartment complex!

On Friday I arrived at my sister (#5)'s house in Highland, Indiana, for her Independence Day gathering of friends and family. She and her family were expecting visitors to start arriving around 3:00pm. It was now 10:35am. #5 and her husband wished me a warm "Happy Fourth" (grrrrr!), and I sat around talking, drinking coffee and eating snacky foods all day.

In Illinois, where I live, it is illegal to sell, purchase or possess fireworks, except for those with special licenses who may purchase for and who produce fireworks displays for municipal shows and for professional sporting events. This does not mean that everyday Illinoisans never get their hands on fireworks, however. Illinois is surrounded on three sides by states where fireworks are legal, and the fireworks purveyors have a peculiar habit of setting up their retail outlets within several inches of the Illinois state line for some unknown reason.

I have spent the majority of my years living in Illinois, and I have experienced just about every one of those Independence Day holidays in amazement at the amount of fireworks set off in the days preceding, the day of, and the days following the holiday, and at the impunity with which the igniters are able to do it, illegal as it is.

As a lifelong Illinoisan – certainly as an eastern border-area dweller – I am reluctant at any time to speak of Hoosiers (Indiana residents) in the superlative compared to the superior people of my own state. But I have to say I am in complete, utter awe of the sheer volume (and I mean it both ways!) of fireworks the typical Hoosier is capable of acquiring!

HOLY FREAKIN COW! Standing outdoors in the middle of Highland, Indiana, Friday night, I could close my eyes and believe I was in the "shock and awe" phase in Baghdad! With bombs "bursting in air" near and far, it sounded like anarchy had consumed the town. Fortunately, my brother-in-law had relatively tame stuff like bottle-rockets and roman candles, and a couple "bricks" of firecrackers. His next-door neighbor, however, had purchased the arsenal at Fort Knox! Earlier in the day he had mentioned a buddy who was coming over, and who had acquired a class 'B' license – and apparently that means he was able to buy "the good shit."

As we learned when night began to fall, "the good shit" is the kind of stuff that cities buy for their official fireworks displays. The only difference here – and I don't know if it was this guy's personal preference, or that the other kind is just too expensive – is that the guy only bought the "bombs." They launch from a tube (!!) and go a couple hundred feet in the air – where there will be fewer casualties – and they explode with an ear-splitting, teeth-rattling, bladder-emptying crash. He had about a hundred of these.

One of them failed to launch and exploded on the ground in the alley behind his house, destroying its launch tube. One of #5's other guests was hit harmlessly in the back by a flying shard of plastic, for which the neighbor came over and apologized profusely. It was a 3-inch diameter PVC pipe – his biggest launcher – and he would not be able to launch the big stuff any more. We could never tell the difference afterward.

It just confuses me. The average American can't go down to the local rural farm supply store and buy fertilizer and ammonium nitrate without raising the eyebrows of the Department of Homeland Security, yet the average Hoosier – and any other fireworks-state resident – is limited only by the depth of his bank account from buying any amount of explosives already assembled and ready to blow! Cripes! Pack one of those in a box with nails and stick it in a backpack, and you're wielding a weapon of mass destruction!

Finally, the City of Highland's official municipal fireworks display started, a view to which #5 has from her back yard. I responded with the same enthusiasm I usually have for fireworks displays – meh. It quieted #5's next-door neighbor, however.

Shortly after the city display ended, I decided it was time to go home. I stepped out #5's front door only to be greeted with their across-the-street neighbor using the pavement of the street as their launch pad for their fireworks, with bombs almost as big as the next-door neighbor's! I half expected to come to the Xterra and discover its windows blown out from the concussions! But they weren't, and the across-the-street Hoosiers were even so polite as to suspend their blast-lust just long enough to let me pull away from the curb.

I arrived home a little past midnight and heard sporadic fireworks blasts at various distances into the wee hours.

And then more Saturday. And today.

I hope you all were safe and burn/blindness/blast-amputation free on this Independence Day holiday.

That's one big, pointlessly noisy, pointlessly dangerous holiday down, with one to go. Next dangerous holiday report, then, when I will wish you all a Happy 25th of December!