Why I drive to Wisconsin to buy the really good fireworks every summer

Independence Day, 1987. My dad had some fireworks stashed in a greasy brown paper bag in the garage. I’d known about them for weeks and begged him to set a few off. He was hesitant because, well, I was 4 years old. Putting me near baby dynamite probably was a bad idea. But I was a pest about it and he gave in.

I remember he walked me to the far side of our small yard, parking me by the birch. “Sit right here and don’t move,” he told me. As he slowly walked to the other side of the yard to prep the pyrotechnics in the driveway, I plugged my fingers into my ears well before I needed to, because that’s what kids do.

I watched him pull out his lighter and squat to set the fuse of an M-80, a powerful firecracker originally made by the U.S. military to simulate artillery fire. His body was between me and the munitions, though, and I couldn’t see anything. So I darted closer to the action where I could enjoy a full view — did I mention I was 4 years old and a complete nuisance?

http://www.startribune.com/why-i-drive-to-wisconsin-to-buy-the-really-good-fireworks-every-summer/385010501/