Blowing Crap Up Sure Is Fun

For the past two years I have left my lovely home on the west coast and flown roughly 1700 miles to Topeka, Kansas where I spend some time there.

I flew out two years ago, on my own, for two weeks and I spent time with my family here (I’m writing this in Kansas).

Last year I flew out solo and was alone for a week and five days, then my mom joined me for a week, and we left together.

This year I flew out alone and my mom will join me after a week, we’ll stay for a week, and leave together. I’ve been here for four days now (actually, its half past midnight so five days now).

I’ve visited here before, but I count the past two visits, and this one, as particularly significant because I don’t really remember the other times, as I was too young. The biggest thing I remember from my young days here is one of the reasons why I enjoy being in Kansas so much—the fireworks.

In California, because it’s so dry, the fireworks are fountains basically. But in the Midwest, you’ve got wet summers, meaning you’ve got better fireworks. Firecrackers and other such goodies are allowed! And Missouri is about an hour’s drive from Topeka, and they’ve got bottle rockets and stuff like that.

I’ve always visited Kansas around the Fourth of July because it makes Kansas much more exciting. I have family here, so I like to visit them, but after a few days, it starts to lose its flair. Without fireworks this place would be dull for someone who doesn’t live here and can’t drive.

I don’t know where at the point in human evolution hearing a firecracker became fun. Or, if you don’t believe in evolution, why God would make a human love hearing that tiny little pop.

What I do know is that I get a huge satisfaction every time that wick goes down, ignites the gunpowder (yes, I know it’s probably not gunpowder) and it explodes. I’ve heard tens of thousands of those mini-explosions in my lifetime, maybe hundreds of thousands, and I still get a little glee out of it.

Every year I think I might lose interest, or I think I have lost interest, but then I get here, light one of those bad boys, and my heart soars.

Even as a child I liked this. And, as I near adulthood, I’m no different.

One of my cousins, who is twenty-one, on the other hand, does not find much fun in fireworks. She began losing interest a few years back. I just can’t understand that.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that being a child never gets old. Maybe that’s why Michael Jackson tried so hard to be a child. Or maybe he never got to be a child and always wanted to be one. I don’t know.

What I do know (I realized I’ve said that twice) is that tomorrow I’m going to light probably a thousand firecrackers and with each one I’m going to feel this childlike sense of joy each time one explodes. And with that excitement will come a pang of sadness because I know that most things have lost that childlike glee and how unfortunate that is.

Even though it’s a cliché, I feel the need to repeat it. When we’re young we always want to be older and when we’re older we always want to be young. But I don’t want to be young again really. The only thing I miss about being a child is finding unbridled joy in the most minuscule of things. And perhaps that’s what a firecracker is for me.

What I’m listening to: Gentle on My Mind – Glen Campbell