Friday, July 4, 2003
Friday, July 4, 2003 |
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A simple rule about fireworks in Georgia By Rick Ryckeley The Boy and I went to Florida for our annual father/son vacation. On the drive down, we talked about the fishing trip and Jet Ski riding ahead of us. We were spending some quality time together, but as soon as we hit the great state of Alabama, all he could talk about was buying fireworks. I told him, "I don't think it's a good idea to be buying something that I'm sure is illegal in Georgia. Besides, they're dangerous not to mention the fact they can wreck bicycles." The Boy sighed, "Dad. You're not gonna tell me another one of your stories are you?" I answered, "As a matter of fact, son, I am." It was July 4th, and we had just dug the first bedroom to Cliff Condos. Cliff Condos was the massive three-year dig into the cliff of the vacant lot two doors down from our house at 110 Flamingo Street. We were in the second of three years, and considering time lost for dirt clods fights and ever-present water balloon battles, we were still on schedule. With the Great Room already completed the previous summer, only five bedrooms and a guest room left to go and Cliff Condos would be finished. By three o'clock, the South Georgia sun and massive dig had taken it toll on us all, not to mention our blue jeans, and it was time for a break. It was time for a rode trip to DQ. It happened so fast no one was prepared for it. One moment the six of us were riding our bikes down to the local Dairy Queen for a lemon-lime Mister Misty Brain-Freeze-Ice-Cream Float when the next, we were being bombarded by explosions from above. Goofy Steve crashed after the first explosion, running into the curb just after the Wayne Street overpass, blowing out his back tire and bending his chopper handlebars. Two explosions later, Older Brother Richard ran into Neighbor Thomas, both winding up in the ditch next to Goofy Steve. Preston Weston riding his new three-speed bike was the next casualty. A bottle rocket followed him down the street and exploded as he ran into Old Man Hodge's weeping willow tree. With three speeds, he thought he could out-ride the bottle rocket, but he was wrong. When Preston Weston saw his new three-speed bike with a bent front wheel, the tree wasn't the only thing weeping. After the crash of Preston Weston's new bike I heard the laugh that was all too familiarly. To me, the sound was like fingernails raking across a blackboard and belonged to none other than Down-The-Street Bully Brad. Looking up, I saw him standing on the overpass, still throwing fire crackers and shooting bottle rockets at us down below. Looking up, I ran into Twin Brother Mark and we crashed much to the delight of Bully Brad, who was still laughing and shooting bottle rockets at us. "Dad, can we just by some bottle rockets or firecrackers and shoot them off when we get back home?" The Boy asked. I wasn't sure which kinds of fireworks are legal in Georgia so I decided to call one of my friends in law enforcement. I asked, "Are bottle rockets, firecrackers and sky rockets legal?" My friend in law enforcement answered, "There are no fireworks that are legal in the state of Georgia." That was good enough for me, and I hung up the phone, but not good enough for The Boy. He wanted me to call my friend back and ask if smoke bombs and sparklers are legal. Maybe we could stop and buy some of those. For the next two hours, "can we stop and buy fireworks" was all I heard. We finally made it out of Alabama and to the beach without, I'm happy to say, one single bottle rocket or smoke bomb. The Boy was not happy. The second wave of the bombardment came as suddenly as the first, but this time in the form of smoke bombs! We picked up rocks to throw up at him, but Down-The-Street Bully Brad threw so many smoke bombs from the Wayne Street overpass that we couldn't see where he was. All we hear was his hideous laughter and smoke bombs hissing, going off everywhere. Neighbor Thomas and Older Brother Richard grabbed a handful of rocks and ran to either side of the Wayne Street overpass to try and catch Bully Brad in a cross fire. But alas, all they found up top was a few unused smoke bombs and a couple of Roman candles which they lit and threw down at us. That was the day we found that Goofy Steve could dodge fireworks just as well as he dodged dirt clods. Florida was a wash-out, the sea was too rough to go fishing, and the Jet Ski people just laughed at us when we asked to go out riding in the rain. On the return trip home, we went through Alabama once again. "The Fireworks Capital of the South" The Boy now calls it. He made me stop at the Black Cat fireworks shop. "Dad, call your friend and ask him if we can buy these." He showed me a handful of assorted fireworks. I called my friend in law enforcement once again, and he restated, "There are no fireworks that are legal in the state of Georgia." I asked him if he was sure about that - what about lady fingers, star ships, sparklers, or torpedoes? He answered, "NO FIREWORKS ARE LEGAL IN THE STATE OF GEORGIA!" Then he suggested for a July 4th celebration, we go to a fireworks display, like the one in Peachtree City. "You can get a great view of it near the Hwy. 54 over pass." The Hwy. 54 Street overpass - I think we'll stay home and watch a display on TV. [Rick Ryckeley is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services. He can be reached at firemanr@bellsouth.net.] |