I Probably Should Have Died Then

Ever had one of those experiences that, while enjoyable at the time, makes you break out in cold sweats 12 hours (or 12 minutes) later upon reflection of the shear stupidity of the acts involved? These are those experiences.
Episode 3: Roman Candles Hurt When They Hit You In The Eye

As I mentioned in a previous posting, Heffernans are not overtly safety-conscious. Once upon a time we used to have the best 4th of July fireworks show this side or our neighbors. There was this firework stand out in hickville that would sell you 2-for-1, Class A fireworks so long as you signed a waiver saying you would be lighting them off out of state. Cincinnati is close enough to Indiana and Kentucky (unfortunately) that this was plausible and we'd annually drop $200-$300 on fireworks, which, since it was 2-for-1, was like $500 worth.

It all started innocously enough - paper airplanes with bottlerockets attached that would fly hella fast, blow up, then catch on fire. A year later we wound a bunch of bottlerockets together that inadvertantly got caught in a patio umbrella before exploding directly above our 9-months pregnant aunt whose water promptly broke and who gave birth to her second child less than 24 hours later. A year after that we started a family tradition - roman candle dodgeball. Roman candle dodgeball consisted of each sibling taking turns standing about 15 feet away. The rest of us would each light a roman candle and fire away at whoever was 'it'. Hits were rare, but when they did occur whoever was 'it' would instinctively panic and then it was like lions to the slaughter. A year later we implemented a safety feature - whoever was 'it' was allowed to hold an old racquetball racket for self-defense.

Anyway, the impetus for this post occurred about 4 years ago at our uncle's house (it was this uncle's wife who had the 4th of July baby several years before). This uncle, with the aid of his son, was quite possibly a more enthusiastic pyro than we were. This may have been because we were getting older, had wives, etc... or it may just be in the Heffernan genes. Regardless, we showed up at his place for the 4th and he had about 60 gross of bottlerockets and roman candles. Not only that, he had purchased about a dozen of those lighter sticks to facilitate our pyromania. Shit went down after dinner - Colin, Kevin, Ted, Dad, Uncle Dan, Danny Jr., and I were in the midst of an all-out war in his backyard. Suddenly, my sister, wife, Ted's wife, our mom, aunt, and great uncle (who is a priest!) launched a sneak attack from the balcony. You cannot trust girls. One minute they're drinking wine coolers, the next they're blindsiding you with roman candles and black cats. I looked up to see the source of the fireball that had burned a hole clean through my new Reds hat when I was hit. A roman candle shot hit off the underside of my hat's bill and bounced right into my eye. I know I throw around the term 'cat-like reflexes' pretty casually, but in this instance I had some fucking cat-like reflexes and was able to close my eye just in time. Kevin was right next to me and saw the whole thing happen. There was a momentary pause as everyone realized I had just been hit in the face and was writhing in pain. It was like everyone suddenly realized we were adults and were shooting fireworks, dangerous fireworks, at one another from relatively close range. The tension was broken however with this jem from Kevin, "He's okay. He still has 1 good eye left!". And so continued the war.

I think that was the last serious firework shootout any of us took part in, it certainly was for me. There were no side-effects, I was completely fine, but that one was just too close for comfort. That's not to say that I wouldn't play roman candle dodgeball as long as I'm not 'it' - that game is awesome!