Two weeks ago, I drove 90 minutes from my house and crossed into a state that allows the sale of fireworks, unlike the one I was in. (You’ll understand, I’m sure, why I need to keep this vague.) And not just the lame ones — sparklers and those unimpressive kind that look like inverted ice cream cones — but the good ones, what those in the fireworks trade call aerials.
I loaded up on aerials and transported the materiel across five state lines because Article I, Section 8, Clause 3 of the Constitution of the United States gives me the OK to do so. (As I understand it.) As night fell on the Fourth, we headed to the beach, set up the boxes and contraptions at water’s edge (safety first!), and set off a 30-minute fireworks display that had people “oohing” and “ahhing” up and down the beach. And then we doused everything with wet sand, carried the spent ordnance to the trash bins, and secured the area.
I’M A BOOK MAN, NOT A BEACH READER
Of course, the entire process was totally illegal. But that’s what made it patriotic fun. Looking out for the police, driving across state lines, scuttling along the dark beach like commandos — what better way to commemorate Independence Day? And because I know you’re wondering: Yes, we all still have our fingers and toes. And no, no one lost an eye.
But that was only the second-most deadly thing I did over the Fourth of July holiday.
The day after the beachside display of free-spirited Americanism, I took my life into my own hands once again and gave my 14-year-old niece a driving lesson. Again, this was technically illegal. The law is clear. If you are 15 or older, you can get a learner’s permit in most states in the United States. A learner’s permit allows a young person to practice driving under certain restrictions before obtaining a full driver’s license.
In other words, before you can even begin to learn to drive, you need a permission slip from the state authorities, which sounds a lot like communism to me. In America, we don’t rightly cotton to the idea that we have to ask permission to learn a new skill, especially one such as driving, which embodies the wandering freedom of the American soul.
But I don’t have a death wish. So, I found a large empty space, bordered by soft grass and dirt, far from the prying eyes of the regulatory state. In fact, we conducted our lesson in the parking lot of the VFW hall. My thinking was, these people have already seen the violent destruction of war, so they should be able to handle a 14-year-old behind the wheel.
I was right. A few of the vets stood on the front steps of the hall to watch my niece execute the basics: turning, parking, reversing along a straight line, making “S” formations across the lot. And I could swear that once or twice, after a particularly adroit move, I heard one or two of them “ooh” and “ahh” at my niece’s natural skill at the helm. It was, in a way, an Independence Day fireworks display of its own.
And because I know you’re wondering: The car is fine. No dents and no casualties. The car, by the way, is a 2018 Subaru Outback, built by a Japanese company that made aircraft during World War II. After Emperor Hirohito’s war machine was smashed by American might and know-how, and maybe, I like to think, some of the guys watching the driving lesson on the steps of the VFW hall, it became a solid and dependable car manufacturer, proving once again that America and its unique brand of redemptive capitalism have brought light and freedom to the world.
That’s worth breaking a few stupid laws to celebrate.
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Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and he is the co-founder of Ricochet.com.
