The 5th of July

For someone who has a hearing sensitivity, who would rather not be killed by a drunk driver, who doesn't like to worry if her house will burn to the ground due to wayward fireworks, and who would rather not be startled awake by explosions shaking her house, early morning on the fifth of July is my moment to celebrate patriotism.

This is when all the noise-loving lunatics are sleeping in after a night of terrorizing the community.

The streets are quiet. No movement. No cars. No screaming. No explosions.

I can actually walk the streets in peace and quiet and not worry that my boobs might be blown off because some immature imbecile thought it would be fun to throw an illegal firecracker at me.


My best friend's sixteen year old older brother was killed by a home-made bomb on the 4th of July so I've never been fond of this holiday. I'm pretty sure many people have been maimed or killed from fireworks, but that never stops the stupid because the stupid don't think.


I also once knew a Vietnam vet. The 4th of July was always a nightmare for him. One year he was walking along a pier when some teenagers set off fireworks in the park and he jumped over the wall into the rocks and water below. Broke his arm, leg and a few ribs. The explosives brought back too many memories of combat.

At my previous home, the late-night fireworks would start two weeks before the 4th of July and continue three weeks after. At one or two in the morning it was sounding like World War III. Don't these people have to work in the morning? Firecrackers are supposed to be illegal especially in city limits and I'm pretty sure bombs are discouraged, too.


At my current home, the noise starts one, maybe two days before the 4th. It's not as bad. In fact, the first 4th of July I spent here I was amazed at how quiet it was.

Last year we had idiot renters in the house across the street with bombs. Seriously. The first one exploded around 11pm. My adrenaline shot through the roof and I nearly peed my jamies. I ripped open my bedroom curtains just in time to watch Brain-Dead run into the house. I saw him looking out the window to see if the cops were coming down the road. No cops? Of course not. He'd do it again. And again. And again. I was tempted to call the police and give them his address, but I was really hoping he'd blow off an arm instead.

There were a few bombs this year, but not nearly as close or as frequent as last year, and most of the noise stopped before midnight.


I don't understand the attraction to explosives. Is it supposed to be recreating the American Revolution? It doesn't feel patriotic to me.

But the peace of early morning on the fifth? Now that is patriotic.

Let's celebrate peace instead of war.

I think I'll have hotdogs for breakfast.