Some Stories

Some stories just beg to be told.  And probably retold.  Possibly even included in a funeral eulogy.

This is one of those.

As in, "Remember that time when Dad hit Alex with a package of lit firecrackers?"

There we sat, three generations of aunts, cousins, grandkids, parents, enjoying lighthearted conversation, when the air seems to simultaneously explode with light, sound, and Alex crying.  Just as a firecracker explodes on my pinky toe, I realize that somehow, our circle has just been breached by lit fireworks, and look - immediately - in the direction of my father. 

He is running and apologizing and scooping up Alex before most of us even realize what is going on.  I still don't know exactly what happened other than he was "just intending to have it go off a little behind us to scare everyone," and that the fuse was "shorter than I expected," and "as soon as I threw it, I thought, 'Oh...no!'"

I figured all he needed was one of my all-too-often-used "Really, Dad?" looks, but my mom gave him more than that.  My cousin Brenda asked, "Judging by the way your mom reacted, it seems like things like this have happened before."  And I just shook my head and explained that sometimes the patriarch of our family doesn't think things all the way through, and yes, things like this have happened before.

Everyone was fine, and luckily it was Alex, who recoveres much quicker than Adam. 

The best part was that when I texted Lisa and Michelle, I got back to very different answers to my text.

Me: "So Dad just hit Alex with a package of firecrackers.  Wish you were here."

Michelle: "Ha ha... that sounds like fun.  Miss you guys."

Lisa: "Lit ones? Why?"

Thanks, Dad, for a memorable 4th!