The Rocket’s Red Glare

It was the second of July in Altadena, California (year of the lord 2004, etc, etc), one hour after sunset, when I was rousted from watching motocross DVD by the sounds of cannons going off a few blocks away.

Well, not really cannons…I know, after four decades of experience, what recreational artillery sounds like. Some of my fondest memories of growing up in the Nation’s Capital, Washington, D.C., involved a yearly visit to the fireworks street vendors.

The vendors always seemed like mysterious gypsies to me, a semi-organized cult that would suddenly appear to spread cheap fireworks across the city, pawning boxes of explosives to kids young and old, out of rickety, hastily-thrown-together plywood shacks.

But the Fourth of July in D.C., as far as fireworks were concerned, was all about seeing (and hearing and FEELING) the Nation’s Fireworks Extravaganza on the Mall (I’m not sure if that’s trademarked)….40 years of that and one gains the ability to discern the subtle differences in the audio signatures between a Glorious Golden Shower Sparkler shell and a howitzer (or maybe not).

My point, though, was that there were fireworks going off in my neighborhood. REAL recreational artillery. At first I thought it was just some crazy neighbors a few blocks away, blasting off a few consumer grade shells. After a particularly extended fusillade, though, I reconsidered: either I had more crazy neighbors than I first thought, or perhaps something else was going on.

I stepped out on my porch just as another barrage began. Coming from what was probably the Altadena Country Club’s golf course was the real deal. Fireworks. The show continued, the “whumps” occasionally becoming “WHUMPS” and even a few “WHUMPS!!!”, the night skies lighting up in luminous colors as the gunpowder ignited and spread burning remnants through the atmosphere. And I began to think about the fact that it was the start of the Fourth of July weekend in American, again…and here I was, watching a fireworks display, again. And here we go, again, as all over this fine country, Americans will celebrate the anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence…by shooting off a whole hell of a lot of rockets.

We love rockets. Americans love rockets. And explosions. But we especially love rockets that explode. We even wrote a song about a rocket and made it our National Anthem. Okay, “The Star Spangled Banner” is really a song about a flag…a flag that the songwriter could see only because it was illuminated by an exploding rocket, accompanied by a violent soundtrack of “bombs bursting in air.” During a war, of course. Americans love war, too, and it’s fitting that we do so, because of our love of exploding rockets. However, we prefer shooting these rockets AWAY from us, sometimes just up in the air, sometimes just at people we don’t like. The latter usually meaning during a war.

How many displays of artfully burning powdered chemicals will exist as the centerpiece and/or climax of the Nation’s 2004 Independence Day festivities? The count has to be in the thousands, maybe even hundred thousands. It looks like my annual renewal of retina-tracing by fire streaking across the sky occurred two days early…and it had the added “benefit” of having a large red “Jack In The Box” sign (I’m pretty sure that IS trademarked) in my direct field of view during the entire display. At one point in the bombardment, the fiery bursts created a sort of “halo” effect around the huge advertisement, further strengthening, I’m sure, a subliminal argument in favor of that particular brand of fast fried food (I ate there the following afternoon. Coincidence?).

I gotta tell you, it all came together for me as I watched this scene. I recalled some of the more vividly gruesome scenes from our country’s current war (scenes that I had to pay to see in a commercial movie theater because the Nation’s “free” media refuse to air them), and I wondered if Iraqi people have the same view of recreational artillery that we Americans do? I wondered if they respond to the sound of cannons in their neighborhoods the way we Americans respond? Of course, this was all rhetorical wondering; I knew the answer. We all know the answer.

I count myself lucky to have been born in a country where I was able to grow to middle age without ever having the experience of being on the receiving end of military grade bombs and rockets. In fact, I am quite proud that I live in a country that lets us choose for ourselves if we want to experience such things. This country goes so far as to give us the opportunity to feel what it’s like to be targeted by bullets, grenades, mortars, rockets and missiles among other things, while we give people who live in other countries the very same opportunity. That, I’m not so proud of.

So this Fourth of July, as the news readers and newspapers and talking heads continually remind us to give thanks and warm thoughts to our troops as they put themselves in harm’s way in order to preserve our exploding-rocket-loving way of life, do not let yourself lose sight of the FACT that our wonderful fellow citizen-soldiers do NOT have to be at war. This proud Nation NEVER need be at war, with any country, cult, tribe or substance. We CHOOSE to be at war, because we love our rockets and what they do for us.

More later…
Paul