This past Friday, myself and my fellow compatriots celebrated Canada Day.
I like to think we’re fairly active with the kids and participate in local events as much as sanity will allow, but for whatever reason we had never brought the kids to see the fireworks down at the local park on our country’s birthday. This year, despite the fact that our kids are normally in bed by 8:30pm and the fireworks didn’t start until 10pm, we thought we’d give it a shot.
I packed up everything we ever needed in the event of a nuclear holocaust and headed down to the beach. Except, being that I’m one brain cell to the right of senile, I put the bag in the wrong car. Bug repellent and picnic blanket be damned, at least we had the important stuff – sparklers, a barbecue lighter, Hubby’s pipe and vanilla flavored tobacco and the kids’ blankies.
After a short bathroom break, as I was carrying Julia back to our little plot on the sand through the throngs of inebriated teenagers (this is small town Canada, after all) the fireworks started. We paused to look at them before continuing.
She gasped, eyes wide like saucers and put her hands over her ears.
“Mommy, it’s so LOUD!” Yes Julia… yes it is.
“Mommy! It’s so BEAUTIFUL!” Yes Julia… yes it is.
“Oh, Mommy! It looks just like a shooting star!” Yes Julia… yes it does.
My perceptive and poetic little girl.
… Meanwhile, back on our sand plot…
“Daddy, it’s so LOUD.” Yes, James… yes it is.
“Wow, Daddy! That’s so COOL!” Yes, James… yes it is
“DADDY! It’s just like a BOMB!” Yeah, James! ‘Atta boy!
That, my friends, that is the difference between boys and girls. And they come by it honestly.