Men and Explosives...What Could Go Wrong?

It started a year ago or so on a completely different topic, and the pressure has been building since.  Lori wanted me to guest post for her blog.  Maybe it's a way to draw new people into her blog, as if cars and explosives cross breed with family and cooking... Anyway, for Father's day she asked, and so now I am writing...

For Father's Day what should I write about... well, of course, about my Dad.  There are so many great stories that come to mind, but only one can be picked for a post like this.  Like many kids, I grew up firmly believing my Dad was infallible.  At the age of four or five, if someone had asked me to define the word infallible and given me proper context, I would have responded "Dad."  In my world, he was equal to the Pope.  What he said was law, and he never was incorrect or made a mistake.  This wasn't a punishment-type thing or a behavior meant to put us kids down, but he was the boss and he actually was right all the time.  My sister and I still debate if his "rightness" has continued to this day.   I express doubt and she gives me the stink eye.  The concept of any one person, even the Pope, being infallible is, of course, preposterous.  But as I said before... as a kid, I believed it.

As many of you know, I make bullet resistant vehicles.  Armored SUVs, SWAT trucks, buses, you name it. I make sure nobody can shoot you or blow you up in my vehicles.  I have been in this line of work for most of the past 20 years.  Guns and explosives have been in my blood for work, but it started much earlier in life.  In typical kids' fashion, I grew up with a Dad that taught me all about firearms.  He first took me to the shooting range at age eight or nine, methodically teaching me how to shoot a Marlin .22 long rifle.  After I would shoot, he would step up and light off his .38, then the .357 would come out... sooo awesooome.   Naturally that was one of those moments in which my Dad was the coolest of the cool, the baddest of the bad, able to do no wrong and blast things into a million pieces.  He was the Pope with the powers of Zeus.  I loved the shooting and I loved being my Dad's son.

A year or so later, he introduced me to .... explosives...  I am not talking about terrorist stuff, I am talking about the really cool stuff that you could get in the 1970's.  Those were the firecrackers that were banned in your home state, but legal in those magical states you drove through, on your way to Florida.

 Cross the right state line and "Presto" you entered dreamland.  Massive signs saying Fireworks littered the first exit's off ramps.  It was a shopping mall of things that go boom, and one time...we stopped.    Dad and I eyed the big stuff, but Mom prevailed, we walked out with firecrackers, the smaller lady fingers and bottle rockets.  I wanted to skip the Florida vacation, head home, and blow shit up.  Once again, Mom won that argument.  Needless to say, within a short period of time, I was an expert at blowing up my battalions of plastic green army men.  They didn't stand a chance.  I used to throw rocks or sticks at them, or the occasional water balloon went kersplat.  Not anymore, I would launch those lady fingers and shoot bottle rockets at them until the green army men were flaming boiling puddles of green liquid goo... I was hooked, and I wanted more... and sure enough, I got what I wanted.

 

One day Dad came home with the goods..

the mother of all semi-legal fireworks at the time...

the Original M-80.

   

Dad had acquired them from a friend somewhere and brought home a bag of six of these joyous devices.  In 1978 or so, a M-80 was a huge firecracker. Also known as Cherry Bombs, Ashcans, etc...today you can buy things with the name M-80 in certain states.  But they are de-powered and nothing more than sound bangers.  Dad first brought one out at the neighbor's house.  As all of us kids gathered around, he lit a fuse and tossed it into a big puddle.  I was incredulous.  "DAD YOU THREW IT IN THE WAT...."  BOOOOOOOOOM...

It was magical. The puddle was nowhere to be found.  The water simply melted away, vaporized by the coolest superpower-laden person on the planet...my Dad.  The other kids, like me, were so taken aback by the explosion, that we were laughing.  Not because it was funny, but because it was so awesome that our young brains simply could not comprehend the power and the coolness that had been unleashed on us.  We wanted more!  But Dad wisely said enough and we went home.   Running in the front door I screamed for Mom. I had to tell her how cool Dad was and by default, by association and by choice... I was that cool too.  I explained the fuse being lit, the toss into the water, the atomic flash of light, the water leaving this Earth and the smile on Dad's face as we kids rejoiced...and all I got from Mom was the Herlihy woman stink eye, and so did Dad.  I didn't care... he was the Pope, after all.

A couple of weeks went by and it was the Fourth of July.  Along with our neighbors, we shot bottle rockets off all day, charcoal snakes abounded, we spun sparkling wheels that went crazy and I said Dad, get the M-80s!!!!    So he did.    Dad dutifully retrieved them and pulled a magical one out of the bag.  For the fourth, we had some food set out for people.  One snack was Fiddle Faddle.


A delicious caramel popcorn concoction that came in a tin can.  Needless to say, it was gone fast.  Back in the day, the snack came in a huge tin can, not a box like it does now.  So Dad grabbed the empty can and ran out to the middle of the yard... ahhh..  It was about to happen again...  The anticipation of an atomic flash and a massive, thundering, earth-shaking noise was too much to handle. Within a few short heart beats, I was going to be the coolest kid with the coolest Dad. 

...As one looks back on events like this, you realize that it's a little funny how life teaches you lessons at times when you don't expect it....

It happened as fast as the puddle vaporized... the explosion blew the can into a million pieces.  It quite literally, disintegrated with no trace left behind where it was prior to the explosion.  The birds took flight, critters scurried, dogs barked and we kids roared and cheered... I was running in circles, laughing and holding my chest from feeling the concussion of the explosion.  I turned to Dad to express my undying joy to him.  I wanted to once again praise him in his moment of magnanimity...but...all I saw was a white face, with a look of pure horror on it. 

Something else caught me eye, I looked up, way into the sky and saw a piece of the tin can falling in the breeze to the earth.  I thought to myself, "Wow, that was waaaay high in the air."

And that is when I heard the voice that no kid ever wants to hear... a tone of voice so purposeful, so direct, that if used, there is no chance for dissent or explanation... It's the voice a mom uses to scream at you when something really stupid happened.   It's a deep, guttural, decibel garnering, wail that only a women can use to keep something truly bad from happening...or as it so occurred, to formally knock my dad off that seat of infallibility....

You see, by putting a large tin can over an explosive, my dad created something truly dangerous.  In essence, he created a hand grenade and lit it off in our front yard.  This grenade-like device sure did explode into a whole slew of pieces.  With the luck of the Irish and the hand of the Almighty protecting us, every single flying piece of razor sharp death boomerang...managed to miss everyone of us.

My Mom was screaming out one of the front windows at my dad.  Right next to her, a large piece of the can was lodged in the house.  It was lodged deep enough into the house that it took two hands to forcefully pull out...there were people standing between the M-80 and the house when it lit off.   I then realized that some of the sounds I had heard were pieces of shrapnel, screaming into the bushes behind me. It was Saving Private Ryan, Platoon and Apocalypse Now all at once... I watched as the sky high piece fell to the ground and I watched as the other parents stood around scratching their heads at what they just witnessed.  In my mind it was that moment when God parted the clouds, shown the light onto dad and the Lord reached down and snatched that infallible membership card from my father.

At age ten, I knew I was not infallible, I knew that I made mistakes and I was sure I would make more.  I realized there was no chance, no possible way I could ever measure up to my dad.  Knowing, even at age ten, like any kid, I did stupid things, took risks I should not take, and that for sure if I did something dumb at ten, then eleven and twelve would bring doozies.  Even if I led a perfect life from that day forward, I would never be infallible. I was doomed to never be able to match my father's status, never mind exceed it. 


It's amazing what kids are capable of thinking about.  Today with my own children, I hear some really incredible stuff now and then come out of their mouths.  And knowing kids, they are only sharing with their parents one millionth of the things that run through their brains.  There I was, standing in the front yard after a really cool thing, having barely avoided being one of those awful Fourth of July evening news tragedy stories, and I thought to myself... "Oh shit, Dad's in deep doo doo..."

My mind quickly coalesced around these simple concepts:

• I, nor anyone else was dead...
• Dad made a big mistake...
• Everything was going to be alright
• I still was the coolest kid in the world at that moment 

At that moment, post peril, and pre-doghouse for Dad, I realized that I was just like him... a normal person... mistakes and all.  Turns out that I was just a young version of my dad, the good and the bad, and I liked that.

I think there was only one other time Dad's infallibility was revealed.  I am sure my sister remembers the moment at the dinner table when he slipped his tongue and mentioned driving too fast and rear-ending another car...In the blink of an eye, my sister and I turned and looked at each other and quietly exclaimed "AH HAH!" Dad was busted.

So for this Father's Day, I salute my dad.  A great guy that led by example and continues to do so.  Growing up I knew that if I was like him then I had nothing to worry about.

Now all I need to do is figure out a way to pass that down to the next generation....

"Jack, I have some cool explosives here..!"