I just heard on the news that a truck of illegal fireworks exploded.  I did not hear if anybody was hurt or not, but it probably caused havoc.

It also reminded me of my formative years on Manget Street.

Somehow I came in possession of a Roman Candle.  I don’t remember how I got it, but I do remember having it.

The Roman Candle would look better spewing off its fiery sparkling blaze in the night time.  I knew that.  But being immature, I could not wait to light the end and watch it “go to town” or whatever it was supposed to do.  I lit the end or the fuse in broad daylight, and the lit the end and did nothing..  I waited a few minutes and it just sat there.

Then I picked it up to see it was still lit and suddenly it proved it was still lite, very much so.  I belched out a spew of sparkling flames right onto the palm of my right hand...

YEOW!  My hand was in agony.

Another bad thing about this situation was that my father was chief of police and fireworks, at that time, were illegal in Georgia.

At that time in my life I was not that much accountable for my time.  If I was not in our yard I would probably at my friend’s house, down the street and around the corner.

I think I walked to the Strand Theater, which was one mile away.  On weekdays they had matinees.  I bought a ticket and went in.  At the concession stand I explain to the girl behind the counter my situation and I needed a cup of ice with water to submerge my hand in.  She told me to keep my cup and bring it back after the ice melted for a refill of ice and water.  She told me she was accountable for the cups but not her ice or water…or Coke, for that matter.  So, I tried ice and water and Coke and water.  I sat through the previews, and movie, and withered in pain.  I think the ice, water, and Coke got me through it.

I returned home and lived through the night, keeping in mind to keep the palm of my hand out of view.