A South Dakota 4th of July!

"There is a sense of freedom, of independence in that state. To me, crossing the border between Minnesota and South Dakota was like going from the mid west into the wild west." 

I have great memories as a kid. I was blessed to grow up in a loving family that on occasion would do some very wacky things. And one of the wackiest things we would do is venture over to South Dakota every year right before the 4th of July. The reason? I sure hope the statue of limitations has expired on this one. My dad, somewhat of a pyromaniac, would load up on black cats, sparklers, bottle rockets, and even some major aerial artillery. 

So every year, we would pack up the family car and head west to South Dakota. At least once, sometime twice a year. As a young boy, I thought South Dakota was just about the neatest place on Earth. As a grown man, I still do. There is a sense of freedom, of independence in that state. To me, crossing the border between Minnesota and South Dakota was like going from the mid-west into the wild west.

I look at South Dakota today as ask what is not to love? First off, you can buy just about any firework or firecracker which is legal in the United States. Next, you don't have to dawdle when you drive through the state to pick up your fireworks. Why? They recently raised the speed limit to 80 mph on many major highways. And if you want to live there as a retired sort, guess what? No state income tax! That includes Social Security!

Back to my boyhood for a moment. One year on our annual trip to buy fireworks, my dad decided to buy the mother of all rockets. It was huge, and I am sure it cost my dad a mint. But, he bought it and we were going to set that sucker off on the 4th of July. 

On the 4th, just before we left to go see the fireworks put on by the city, my dad decided this was the moment. We lived across the street from a rather large parkway (Victory Memorial Drive) and we decided to shoot that rocket up so many people could see the marvelous display of pyrotechnics. My dad had made a launching platform out of some scrap lumber and he rested it against an old trike on our driveway. 

Finally the moment had come. My dad lit the fuse and we all gathered to watch. As the fuse burned, the launching platform started to move. All of a sudden, it was pointed almost level with the ground. Then in a blaze, the rocket took off - just a hair above ground level. As it headed across the parkway, it went right in front of a moving car, just missing it before it exploded in all its glory. It think the driver of that car still has some PTSD to this day! 

Anyhow, just writing about this has me tempted to hop in the truck today and head west. Just for old times sake. Get some firecrackers, some fireworks, come home and be a law breaker. But since we have our very young grandson living with us now, that fantasy might just have to remain a fantasy for the time being.