We live across the street from a baseball field where the city sets off the fireworks each 4th of July. This gives us the best seat in the house, unless you count the shrapnel of firework shells that rain down on our yard.
I love fireworks. Love 'em. I look forward to the 4th of July as much as I do Christmas. Sure, part of it is simple gratitude to be living in the country I'm living in. But a really big part is the simple pleasure of seeing colorful explosions in the sky and feeling my body vibrate from the boom. Maybe a portion of my personality is just a red-blooded pyromaniac.
This year I got to hold our three year old (she'll be four tomorrow) Kylee on my lap. My designated job was to cover her ears because she informed me that as much as she loves to see the fireworks, she's not a fan of actually hearing them.
My reward for an honorable duty was to have Kylee give me a kiss after the fireworks and say "You're the best daddy I ever had." It was the perfect way to end our celebration.