Aselin

Every year my in-laws have a Fourth of July party in Utah. Despite the fact that Utah is pretty dry, it does not outlaw over-the-counter fireworks like Arizona does. This fact has seemed a great injustice to my children over the years, but seeing as how we are invited to the party, it works itself out.

Since we don't know the first thing about fireworks, we usually just mooch off those around us. Trying not to be such a leech, I tell the kids we can bring our own this year. Imagine the squeals of delight as my children select a large pre-packaged assortment of incendiary entertainment from the grocery store. I'm all impressed with myself because I even had a coupon, and the assortment took two pre-pubescent minion to carry out to the car.

They oohed and ahhed over the opportunities that lay inside the cellophane wrapped package. Unnamed Child #2, getting a rush of testosterone, even pulls out a pocket knife because everyone knows packages of fireworks are impressed by a kid wielding a pocket knife. Stabbing at the shrink wrap because "Mom, I'm just making it easier to open later" seems completely helpful and logical. I figure, as long as a human is not being stabbed, everything is OK.

Pulling up to the soiree, I'm completely confident all the other attendees will be impressed at the arsenal of gunpowder we've just hauled inside. Let's just say I would have gotten more reaction had I brought a package of paper plates to the party.

Out on the lawn, waiting for our arrival, are my nephews. Teen-aged nephews. One of them , legally teen-aged. They don't have a pre-packaged assortment of exciting fireworks. No sir-ree. They had two large suitcases, large enough to stash a dead body inside, full of fireworks from the Indian reservation. Fireworks that are not only illegal in Arizona, but also illegal in the other 49 states, including Utah.

Dejected, and weirdly mesmerized, my children ooh and ahh over the black market set-up being organized in the third bay of the garage. They had lain out their options, in order of how tonight's performance would go. My fireworks contribution to the show was not even an entre act. My stuff was the equivalent of the guy outside a concert venue in a light up top hat riding a unicycle and selling water.

As dusk unfolded the show began. As the family gathered in their lawn chairs, the show had a build-up. A fountain, synchronized bottle rockets, then one or two shooting stars up high in the sky that burst into patriotic wonder and dusted us with ash we accepted as a badge of honor for being witness to the illicit display.

As time wore on, those holding the lighting wands grew more creative: syncing multiple shots into the sky, in a rather professional production. All we needed was a little music and we could have charged tickets.

If you've been a long time reader, you know this isn't going to end well. Although, I'll admit, it ended better than it could have.

In what would be the prematurely final firings for the evening, six launches were arranged and their release promised to be spectacular. It certainly was.

The first couple of shots went off inspiring wonderment as the lawn chair audience gazed into the sky. Somewhere around the third shot, we had a misfire. No one quite knows how it happened, but of course, rather than shooting into the street, or a fence, this rocket tipped over and shot straight into the third bay of the garage. It all happened so fast, I'm still hopped up on the adrenaline.

Grazing my nimble sister-in-law's leg, the starburst exploded raining colorful sparks all over the waiting congregation of contraband explosives. The flash was blinding and the realization of what was likely about to happen made all of us leap one direction or another. The braver in the gene pool ran to the garage to save sis from the likely explosion of gas fumes from the lawnmower, weed whacker and actual gas cans stored inside the garage. Not to mention the four-hundred remaining fireworks yet to be lit. The lesser of us took cover. I was hiding somewhere under a bush when the all clear was given. The fact that there was not a secondary explosion is nothing short of a miracle. The fact that sis was not horribly injured was also miraculous.

Once we all were assured everything was OK, that's when the real firework show began, and let's just say, it was spectacular. Let's just also say, it doesn't matter if you're of "legal" age when your parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles and neighbors yell at you...the law cannot protect you here.