As we crossed from Iowa into Missouri, we were assaulted by a bevy of large signs promising the world's best fireworks.
The roadways looked something like this:
When I was a kid, my dad lived in the country outside McGregor. I would visit for a week or so in the summer. One year, we were there for the 4th of July.
My dad had made the journey to Missouri for fireworks. We shot them off the back deck. Roman candles. Whirlie birds. Snaps and snakes. Little bursts of color in a dark sky. Not much bigger than fireflies, really.
Now I've been in Washington DC for the 4th and witness the fireworks on the Mall. I've been in Chicago on Navy Pier. I've now been to St. Louis which has one of the top budgets in the nation for its 4th of July celebration. I have gotten around for my 4th firework gazing.
Nothing will ever top that little deck and those tiny fireworks. Nothing.
I don't think it's so much about the size of the display so much as who you get to view them with. That my dad was putting on a fireworks show for me made those little sparkles more special than I can describe.
This album (a double, as you may recall) was spun again and again that summer.
Summer Nights
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