No sooner have I settled in for another night of The Bachelor on TV when suddenly my dog, fear in her eyes and shaking uncontrollably, jumps on my chest and plants her butt on my chin. If it’s July or August, it must be some clown in my neighborhood shooting off fireworks again.
I loved fireworks as a kid. My dad would take us out to Long Island Sound and watch the town fireworks display as the boaters honked at the really good ones. It’s fun to see a child’s face light up when the finale goes longer than expected. Kids wished we could have these displays every night.