We’ve seen missiles sitting next to interstate exits before, but we’re not yet jaded enough to pass them by without wondering what their story is.
Longtime MCC readers know I’m not the world’s biggest sports fan. I probably wouldn’t rank among the top 2 billion sports fans alive. I know more about baseball than any other sport by a slim margin because in third grade I read a book about baseball that contained a thorough glossary. I learned; I tried to stick with it; I fell away quickly. The passion never developed, but the vocabulary remained.
From time to time I’ll find opportunities to attend ballgames anyway. Our hometown minor league team, the Indianapolis Indians, provide occasional diversions, free tickets, and/or reasons to get out of the house. For tonight’s feature presentation, the primary objective was to get my mom some fresh air and holiday spirit. She hasn’t been out of the house much since her retirement at the end of May, but she does love some good old-fashioned fireworks displays. Anne and I could take or leave ’em. Nevertheless, we figured the outing would do her some good.
Occasionally, though, I got bored. Or in a mood. Some light phone usage may have occurred.
Their objections are reasonable. The booms and bangs are drowning out the TV. The baby’s trying to sleep. The ruckus makes their pets skittish. July 4th isn’t meant to be a week-long celebration. The pops sound like scary gunfire. Something something fire hazard. Durn fool kids gonna blow themselves up one of these days.
I sympathize, but I don’t cosign.