Bottle Rockets and Red Rubber Boots

The same memory comes to mind when I reflect on the 4^th of July. Every year was the same scene. Me standing at the screen door looking out watching my brother and all the other children enthralled in all kinds of fireworks. I finally would get coaxed to come outside when my brother promised a ceasefire. I would scrounge up all my nerve to come outside just to hold a sparkler. I would try to act like I was having fun while writing my name in the air. Truthfully, I was terrified and couldn’t wait to get back inside the house.

My brother, Mark, lived in a world of superheroes. Normally that wouldn’t be that much danger (except to his social life), but on the fourth of July, when I was 6 and he was 8, it was a bad combination. Our mom was frugal and wise. She only…