Growing up, my mom absolutely avoided fire. We weren't allowed scented candles in our rooms and had to stand a healthy distance away from the campfire when we'd make s'mores. Of course that meant on the Fourth of July our family didn't go for the crazy-awesome illegal fireworks our neighbors always fired off. Nope, for us, it was the safe and sane varieties such as fountains, tanks, and snakes.
Somehow though, Mom was okay with sparklers and usually got each kid their own box of wire fire sticks. And oh how we loved them! I remember finding the nearest adult with a lighter, watching the colored spark light up, and dancing and twirling on the lawn. We'd write our names, cast magic spells, and perform impromptu choreographed routines with each other. If there is anything in the world that better defines the word 'carefree' I've yet to see it.
Of course we introduced Lana to the magic of sparklers, and of course she thought they were awesome. Sparklers are one family tradition I'm happy to pass down.
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