The Four-Fingered Firecracker

Lynell said, “I can’t believe it’s already the Fourth of July.”

“Same time every year,” I said, but Lynell didn’t get it. She went back inside for the potato salad, but the boys was still hollering on the backyard.


I almost choked on my can of Milwaukee’s Best when I heard the M-80 go off by the swingset. The brats had found my firecracker collection and they was running in circles ‘splodin’ things. Robby had the lighter… little fugger.

I said, “Robby you is gonna blow your fingers to Kingdom come!”

“Nah-ah!” said Robby, lighting another fuse.

This is what I hate about the Fourth of July... like it ain’t hard enough keeping the boys away from explosives the other 364.
‘Spose it’s better than them eatin’ dog turd from the neighbor’s yard like they used to. Still the boys could use some churchin’ up or they might-


That firecracker was
LOUD! The brats was lookin’ at me, laughing.

I didn't find it funny. “I mean it, Robby... you is gonna blow your fingers to kingdom come!”

“Nah-ah!” said Robby, lighting up a Roman Candle. I gotta admit I like the Roman Candles… pretty colors. Then Robby pulled out a ‘cracker the size of a toilet paper.

“Papa watch this one- this one is the best one of all!”

That was when Robby blew his fingers to kingdom come. Blew his hand clean off
his arm is more like it. I didn’t look for the finger bits- not cuz I’m lazy but because there was nothing to look for. Damn fingers was disintegrated in the ’splosion. Doc said he was gonna give Robby a fork hand so at least he can eat his corn.

Look, I went over all of this with the other officer… can I go home now?