Beech Tree News Network

At work on Saturday, Logan set off a firecracker near my feet.  I screamed like a little girl, which made him and Dillon laugh like little boys, which is still what they are, on some level.  I was reminded of my little brother, Mark, and how much he loved fireworks as a child and how it carried over into his life as an adult.
    Mark has a successful lumber business in Bloomfield, Kentucky, and every July he sets up a huge fireworks stand next to his office , where he and his wife, Karen, and his son, Gabe, sell every imaginable kind of fireworks—and some you can’t imagine.  On the Fourth or sometime near then, Mark and Gabe set off a huge display of fireworks they have set up on a dock overlooking their lake.  (The display is actually set up on a platform that has been nailed to the dock in order to save the actual dock from burning down.)  The show lasts a good 30 to sometimes 45 minutes and seems to get larger and more spectacular each year.
    I was the one who started Mark on his path toward fireworks.  There is a thirteen-year difference in our ages, so he was still a young kid when I married.  On trips to Alabama to see Garey’s family, we would stop in at the fireworks stores in Tennessee in order to pick up multi-packs of roman candles, bottle rockets and firecrackers to take back home to Mark the next time I visited.
 At his shows on the Fourth, he always introduces me to his friends as the person who started it all.  That makes me happy, because that huge exploding display makes him happy.  It’s funny to think about the influence we wield on one another, whether it’s as siblings or friends or even acquaintances.
  I don’t even remember why I bought Mark that first package of fireworks.  I’m not really a big fan of loud noises.  When I was a kid, my parents would buy my sisters and me those little sparklers you hold in your hand.  I liked the spit and crackle of sparks that went everywhere, and I was amazed that I could hold a fire of sorts that didn’t burn me.  They also bought us firecrackers, but I hated the noise and I feared them after I saw one explode in my little sister’s hand.
I enjoy my brother’s events, but I can watch from a distance, and I always make sure he and Gabe have made it safely away from the platform after lighting the fuse that connects the myriad of explosives.
Last year, our granddaughter, Sabria, came to our house after a day spent at the Catfish Festival and an evening of fireworks.  She had this faraway look in her eyes as she told me, “It was the bestest day.”  I’ve seen that look before.  It’s in my brother’s eyes every time he sees colors exploding in the sky.
As we were leaving work on Saturday, Logan and Dillon were setting off firecrackers in coke cans.  I’m probably in for more of their shenanigans next week.  Maybe I’ll hop on the Bluegrass Parkway and make a stop at my brother’s fireworks stand.  Bring back some real fire power.  Show em how a professional does it.  Teach those amateurs a lesson.