Fireworks

Mom and Dad had fireworks in the attic — they had been sitting there from back when they lived in the Spice Market. As Mom handed them to me, she smiled softly.

“We bought these at the Humor and Hijinks festival over twenty years ago.”

“Wow, these are some oooold fireworks!”

She laughed.

“You have no idea! You were there, too, actually. You didn’t know it but you were there, kicking around in my belly.”

I don’t just kick around is someone else’s belly now, so I’m the one to light up the first fireworks.

It’s the last of our Pride Day activities!

Now we can enjoy the pretty lights. Maybe my love for fireworks did stem from hearing them back before I was born.

We’re the only ones in the neighborhood to have gone as far as actually breaking out the fireworks, but the whole neighborhood can see them.

Mom almost burnt down the house trying to turn on the second set of fireworks, but she only got singed a tiny bit. Cyril stepped up to clean up the ashes and burn marks.

And then we’re off to bed. This was our first time celebrating Pride Day, and it was a pretty freaking fun day.