My mom is terrified of fireworks. That wasn’t always the case, but a nasty firework encounter forever altered her affection for loud popping minature explosives. It was July 4th 1988. My sister had just graduated from high-school, and we all headed to South Beach to watch the annual firework display while delightfully dancing on the warm sand.
My father (being an admitted pyro-maniac) brought along a TRUNK-FULL of fireworks. You name it, he had it. My favorites were always “Roman Candles,” and my mom had a thing for “Jumping Jacks.” The name could not have been more appropriate. There we were enjoying our bucket of KFC Chicken (a July 4th tradition in our family) when my mom decided she would string several packs of Jumping Jacks together and set off her own stunning firework display. The result? She literally blew the nail off her right thumb when she didnt let go on time. A trip to the E-R later, we were told to never ever mess with fireworks again. And just in case you were wondering…yes, my mom’s nail eventually grew back. EEEeeewww!