The good news is, it's over for another year
Are We There Yet? • LORI CLINCH
Summer's here and the living is easy. Last week was nothing but hot days, warm nights and quiet evenings enhanced by the sound of ringing ears brought on by pop bottle rockets and firecrackers.

Some say the Fourth of July doesn't start until around one o'clock on the 28th when the actual sale of fireworks can legally begin. But for the Clinches, it starts at or around Dec. 26 when the Christmas tree stands pull out of town and the firework tent people stake out their coveted spots.

"They're not selling yet," I exclaimed every time we drove past a large red and white striped tent. "Still not yet," I'd declare again. And as we passed the 10th tent in a two-block radius, I'd say, "Actually, I think those tents are for pumpkin sales this fall."

Try though I may to put it off and act as if the day of purchase would never actually materialize, it did. And the thing about fireworks sales is you can't hide the fact that the stands are open and that sales are taking place. For if the sales commence at one o'clock, then at precisely 1:02, the city comes to life with booms and bangs and the rat-a-tat-tat brought on by burning a whole pack of Black Cats at once.

It was enough to make the dog turn on his paw and hightail it for the closet. "I know they're selling them," I said on that fateful day. "No we can't stop yet, no they won't sell out before we get there." Then there was my own and personal favorite, "No we can't blow whatever is left of our retirement accounts and take comfort in the fact that at least we got to enjoy watching it as it goes up in smoke!"

This year I reluctantly agreed to let Charlie participate on a conservative level after he presented a three-page manifesto defending his case. He proclaimed his responsibility, his sense of self-worth and even brought up his good grades. He pointed out the fact that he helps out in church, has been known to complete his chores without complaint, once this summer showered without being asked to, and went to bed before nine.

"I'm a good kid," he declared, "and doggone it, people like me.

"Besides," he said in conclusion, "you let all of the other boys have real fireworks long before they were my age."

With great trepidation, I took the little guy to the big tent and together we looked at the snaps and the confetti pops. Although every mother worth her salt dreads it, I even went against my better judgment and bought those nasty "snakes" which are nothing more than a pile of black foam growing out of a mini-marshmallow sized pile of tar that leaves tell-tale signs on the sidewalk for years to come.

After dropping 20 bucks on a purchase that would surely cause his father to declare, "You might as well have given that money to Bernie Madoff," we drove away from the fireworks stand and went to pick up Toby, Charlie's little friend.

I handpicked Toby for I knew that he was the best kid of his kind. He came from a good family with strict rules and a mother who was sure to have guidelines and regulations concerning fireworks that would rival that of our local fire marshal.

"How do you feel about fireworks?" Toby's mom whispered as she leaned into the car.

"I hate them," I whispered back. "But I agreed to let Charlie light off his first real Black Cat under adult supervision with goggles and a full-armored suit."

"Well," she said every so softly as she looked from her left to her right, "some of the neighbor boys have been real nasty with them this year, and I've told little Toby to steer clear, they're bad seeds. We've made him memorize regulations and guidelines and here's a 12-page hard-bound rule book that he's to follow."

As soon as we pulled away, I heard Toby say in a loud and booming voice that seemed unnatural for his little stature, "Charlie! Have you ever stuck a huge firecracker under a Matchbox car and watch it make a launch for the moon?"

Oh yes, the Fourth of July is but a distant memory. But those who love it can take comfort in knowing that it will forever live on in my nerves.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.