Angels and Demonic Fireworks

 "I love this one!"

 Britton

I am so thankful for our pioneer ancestors who sacrificed everything to come to the Salt Lake Valley so that their descendants could risk their lives putting on aerial firework shows in their front yards.  Our show featured plenty of danger, screaming, running for cover, burning clothing and a torrent of rain.  I don't know whether our hearty, stoic ancestors would have been horrified or impressed.

Everything was fine while we went through the snakes, then the smoke bombs and on to the fountains.  There was a major fireworks display happening right behind ours, one street over.  Their aerials provided a stunning backdrop to our little fountains.  Then it was our turn to pull out the big guns.  The first one launched a shell straight up into the sky.  It exploded right above our heads.  Scott shouted, "I can't believe they sell these things!"  Then something went wrong and the next shell shot straight into the vacant field next door.  In the confusion, we were stunned when the next rockets came straight for us!  Michelle said her brain shifted from, "Hey, we're lighting the field on fire" to, "Hey, we're lighting the KIDS on fire.  Run!"  It was like a 3-D movie, with burning asteroids coming straight at your face.  One got Lexie right in the chest and burned her shirt.  I held Ptolemy and covered his face as the older kids ran screaming for cover.  By some miracle, nobody was hurt.

The next aerial firework was spectacular.  (Can you believe we dared try another one?)  This time, a series of explosions went off in the sky, where they belong.  They were so close, it was as terrifying as it was thrilling.  I was looking straight up, screaming with every blast as sparks rained down.  When it ended, I looked around.  There was not a kid in sight.  They had all scattered to any hiding place they could find.  Then the actual rain started.  It pelted down as we looked up to see the fireworks, streaming sparks and raindrops falling down.  By this time, the kids were literally shell-shocked and didn't enjoy the several neighbors' shows that were going on all around us, nor did they want to hold sparklers.  Some of them just stood there holding the sparkler at arm's length and screaming, "Take it away!  Take it away!"

Meanwhile, the sky was bursting with color in two directions.  It was spectacular.  Amid the pyrotechnics, somebody found a little Sherman tank that we forgot to light.  As the blazing sky recalled "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air," the little tank struggled across the road emitting sparks, coming to a stop and popping out a tiny American flag.  It was like the little tank was saying, "Look at me!  Look what I can do!  I have a flag!"  Alas, the poor little tank was upstaged.

After the adrenaline subsided, Freestone declared, "That was the worst fireworks show ever.  But the one that attacked us was awesome!"   

When the "attack" happened, our little ones must have been protected by angels.  Maybe it was our pioneer ancestors.  From now on, we should try to honor their sacrifices in a different, safer way so that they don't have to spend their post-mortal existence jumping in front of flaming balls of gunpowder.