When I was a kid, you could buy fireworks that are now reserved for the reservations anywhere. It was pretty glorious, I must say. Glorious because, despite the stupid decisions I made (which seemed perfectly sane at the time), I was never seriously injured by fireworks.

You’d always hear about some poor sap who lost two fingers trying to throw an M80 at his friend or some schlep who got burned because he dropped his sparkler into a bag of fireworks and his pants went up like a Whistling Pete because he didn’t want to waste his beer putting the fire out. (Rainier is such a fine blend of barley, hops and whatever, after all).

I always seemed to dodge the bullet — or Roman candle as the case often was.

We’d throw firecrackers at each other and whatnot, after all, there’s just so many seashells, crab shells, sticks and hapless toy army men you can blow to kingdom come without getting bored. The only time I really got hit by anything (knock on wood), was a few years ago, when a Saturn missile got kicked over at a Fourth of July party my brother was throwing on Vashon Island. Everyone was sitting by the fire and then everyone was diving for cover as the exploding plastic projectiles fired at us in rapid succession. I made a run for it, but one went right up my shorts and blew up on my not so fleshy posterior.

It hurt like hell and brought new meaning to the statement “Turn the other cheek,” but I digress.

Vashon’s Dilworth Point was always a great place for the Fourth because after all the locals set off their ‘works, you could (on a clear night) look out across the Sound and watch the more impressive shows on the East Side.

I’ve seen my share of big booms over the years but still enjoy them each Third and Fourth of July locally. I repeat, Third and Fourth of July. Not July 5-18. Not June 17-30.

But fireworks seem like a monthlong season around here.

I’m not going to be the pot calling the kettle black. I don’t like it one bit, but I can absolutely relate to kids who just can’t wait until the Fourth or have leftovers to blow off in the ensuing days.

I don’t even pretend that kids aren’t going to get their hands on some firecrackers, Roman candles and the like and run amok for weeks on end. The temptation for many is just too great. It sure was for me.

Now, I’m not advocating that it’s OK for little 10-year-old Timmy to tie a ground flower to the cat’s tail or anything of the sort, I just have a fairly realistic viewpoint of what really happens when you ask kids not to light things off that go BOOM! WHIZ! POW! and WHIRL!

If they’re anything like I was, they’d do it anyway.

What to do? What to do?

Well let’s put things in perspective here. Fireworks are to an 11-year-old what driving a car is to a 16-year-old. (Put them both together, and I’ve still got seven years on ‘em).

That said, instead of parents saying, “Fireworks bad! Kid no use!” (Sorry, but the statement has probably been uttered in one form or another since that was considered good grammar and a brontosaurus burger cost just five clamshells) they should try a different tack.

If your kids are the fireworks lighting type at least give them a few safe pointers on do’s and don’t’s, they might learn something useful. You wouldn’t just give your kid the keys to the car and say, “Don’t do anything stupid,” right? Right?

Well, let’s hope not.

Fireworks should be handled in similar fashion, I think, with parents being proactive instead of reactive. Chat with your kids.

All parents were children once too after all, they should know pretty much how they think, whether their kids can (or will) be handling fireworks and what points to advise them on so we can all have a fun, safe holiday.

JOE IRWIN,

Editor