"Couch!" he snarled at me, glaring and gesturing toward the couch from which I had come. I had to laugh. My two-year-old was very annoyed.

It was the night of our neighborhood's first annual Fourth of July party. The entire neighborhood brought family and food, and we had a great time catching up and getting to know our newest neighbors. A family in the cul-de-sac across the way hosted the shindig. Their backyard has plenty of open space and lots for the kids to do.

Time for fireworks

As dusk arrived, we migrated in small, chatty groups to the front yard. The sense of excitement built as news spread among the children — it was time for fireworks. Chairs were hurriedly assembled on the front lawn, and the men began the serious work of sorting out the hodgepodge of fireworks. Decisions were made about which would be safe for the tikes and which would compose the grand finale.

There followed a brief scene of pure, comic manliness as one woman offered the men a fistful of punks the fireworks stand operator had thrown in with her order. The men, being all very manly men, thanked her kindly but turned up their noses at the offer. Various lighters and aim'n flames were instead produced, much to the satisfaction of the self-appointed pyromaniacs.

Continued...