Fireworks and almost forty

It’s the 5th of November, so I’ve decided to remember.

Guy Fawkes in a strange thing to celebrate, especially in South Africa. We’ve been a republic for almost 60 years. When I was a kid, and it was still legal, my dad would let off a few small fireworks in the back garden and we’d write words in the air with sparklers. My dad would save one of the firework to set off a few nights later on my birthday – that was pretty exciting.

There were the occasional big events, held on school fields. It was more of an affair – with food stalls, professional firework displays, and boys (yes, HUGE motivator for a 12-year-old from a girls’ school). One year there was even a beauty contest. These firework displays were all about the “wow”.

This morning I woke up to a post on the ratepayers’ association Facebook page about a gunshot that was heard in my neighbourhood last night. It turns out it was a firework. I live in the suburbs. There are actually an alarming number of concerned citizens who report the sound of gunshots in the area. However, no reports of actually shootings. I don’t think that I’d know the difference between a car backfiring and a gunshot myself, so I just choose to ignore the reports.

I did honestly think that I would have some great firework memories to record, but I really don’t. Sparklers are cool. Fireworks cause too much trouble.