4th of July Fun

By way of starting a conversation, my buddy at the gym came up alongside my stationary bike and said: “Wow, 4th of July! So many memories!”

He grew quiet, pensive, as I waited for any specific memories of his to surface.

Growing impatient while he was stuck on hold, I searched my own database and was quickly overcome with emotion. Wiping a nostalgic tear away, I offered: “Cherry bombs dipped in multiple layers of glue and BB bullets!”

With him showing no sign of connection there, I continued: “You know, like when the glue is dry, you stick the fuse up the end of a lit cigarette so you have at least 7 minutes to get away?”

Still nothing.

“So you can put the Cherry Bomb in a mailbox or tape it to the window of the storage building in the courtyard in the back of Franklin Elementary?”

A blank.

I’m thinking that something was off. He’s about my age and has always appeared to be a biological male, so why wouldn’t he light up about kid memories of blowing stuff to smithereens? Don’t even try to tell me that not all boys love explosives in all forms. That’s unnatural.

You should have seen the turnout at a grand opening we had for a new neighborhood where my company offered houses with poured concrete walls. They were built like German pillboxes. In an effort to show what happens when wind driven debris hit the walls of a concrete house, we rented a cannon from South Florida and towed it up here for the much-advertised show. We let it be known that a 12’ cannon would be there to shoot ten-foot-long 2x4s into the side of a house.

We already knew they would basically explode into a cloud of splinters.

What guy couldn’t come see us for that alone?

Oh, and beer. Explosives and beer. Multiple kegs.

Groups of men poured in like ladies at a once a year Midnight Madness sale. They outnumbered the girls 7 to one.

Loud explosions, splintered wood pulverized into dust on concrete walls, drunken group participation…what could go wrong?

Fortunately, nothing did.

They say that the key to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I disagree. I think if a guy was offered three doors, one with explosives, one with beer, and one with girls, explosives would come first. Then beer. Ok, maybe it’s a draw between beer and girls but still, no normal guy would pass on the opportunity to witness a great explosion. They’d figure that the beer would stay cold a little longer, and you could always do a flowers and dinner thing with the lady later on anyway.

There’s a demand for immediate and full attention when explosives are involved.

Anyway, all of that reminiscing brought me back into the moment with my gym friend and I wondered if there was a chance, perhaps, maybe, could be…that boys in other countries are…different. That’s when I decided I had my answer. My friend was related to the Cone-heads. He must be from France.

Maybe they never had Cherry Bombs there?

I guess boys could be deprived or depraved.

I vote for the latter.