Friday , July 11, 2014 - 1:15 PM
It’s July 9th at 1:35 a.m. and I write this letter to you under the soft glow of the rockets’ red glare, bombs still bursting in air. No, I am not witnessing some great battle in a distant land, but penning you this letter from suburbia Utah. I have lived all over the world but never have I lived in such a place where the citizens have such an infatuation with pyrotechnics. No matter what fireworks have been banned, no matter the area restrictions that have been put in place, and no matter the time of day (night, or early morning), Utahns feel compelled, like addicts, to fire off fireworks. Utahns pride themselves in being law abiding, neighbor loving people except when it comes time to fire off their super extreme mortars, or their muti-packs.
It was difficult for me to explain to my children why we were refraining from purchasing fireworks this year due to the fire restrictions, while our entire city area (East of Harrison Blvd.) seemed to be fending off an aerial invasion with their anti-aircraft barrage.
Now I am just as patriotic as the next red blooded American, maybe even more so, and I can enjoy a firework display on the Fourth of July, New Year’s Day, after a ball game, and on Pioneer Day. But come on, every summer we endure two solid months of fireworks going off all manner of the day. It’s getting old.
If some of the readers of this letter find it too difficult to reign in their pyrotechnic addiction after 11:00 p.m., may I suggest that they join the military and serve in an active war zone. That may cure them of their need for the smell of black powder in the morning.
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