Why We Blow Things Up

July 4th on Mead Street saw two eight-year-old boys waiting impatiently for sundown. Simon had been to the Reservation on Thursday and picked up a bagful of fireworks, you see. We had let him set off some smoke bombs and a couple of smaller whirling, flashing things the night before, but we were holding the line on the rest of the explosives. "They're a thousand times better when it's dark -- and besides, we want to wait until our friends come over for the barbecue, so lots of people can enjoy them.""But what about the smoke bombs?" Simon & Max begged. "Those are better in the daytime!"

"Yes, but we're waiting for everyone to come over."

"Please?"

"No."

"Okay, then can we play computer games?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because we're really mean."

"You are mean!"

This conversation was repeated, with slight variations, at regular intervals all afternoon. Meanwhile five grownups in three different houses played musical ovens as they readied ribs, grill, pies & drinks for an onslaught of guests. Somewhere in there we also managed to dig up a copy of the Declaration of Independence in preparation for a public reading later that evening.

"Can we do a smoke bomb now?" Again with the smoke bombs. We suggested a dozen other possible activities, starting with fun ones like throwing the frisbee out of the treehouse, and winding up with a series of increasingly unattractive household chores. No dice. It really was too bad they were unable to stop themselves from asking over and over, because we didn't actually care that much if they set off a smoke bomb or two... but we couldn't give in to the endless wheedling without seriously damaging our parental credibility.

Finally we hit upon a satisfactory solution to the impasse, prompted by the confluence of Thomas Jefferson's immortal text and the timeless complaints of oppressed youngsters everywhere.

"Okay, boys, I'll tell you what. You know what the 4th of July is all about, right?"

"Fireworks!"

"Right, fireworks. And why do we set off all these fireworks? To celebrate the day when our country decided to split off from England and become its own separate country. They were really sick of the King of England being so mean to them. So they wrote this big letter to the whole world all about how mean he was, and how they didn't want to be part of England anymore. It was called the Declaration of Independence, and they all signed it on the 4th of July, 1776, see?

"So here's the deal. If you two write us your own Declaration of Independence, we'll let you set off some smoke bombs. Make it good!"

Simon had some reservations about totally dissolving all connection with his parents, possibly recognizing that it might involve taking on some fairly significant responsibilities along with the freedom to set things on fire at will. But he went along with the game, and five minutes later the following scroll was delivered to the living room via paper airplane.

(Note: the construction "bad fill" appears to be a symptom of our household's chronic Suffix Proliferation Syndrome, and would be (more) properly spelled "badful.")

"Excellent!" we said. "But surely a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that you should declare the causes which impel you to this separation?" They retreated to the kitchen again to enumerate their grievances:

We couldn't deny the truth of these accusations (though we did feel that the author of that last one might in fairness have to admit that we had only refused to make a third paper airplane). "Okay," we said, handing over smoke bomb and matches. "Now you get to start a war!"

By the time the blue and green smoke had cleared, our guests were arriving, laden with mango-leek salsa, homemade bread, crab, corn, potato salad, green salad, watermelons, brownies, and intoxicating pink elixirs. And more pie!


Then it was time for the Declaration. We want to thank Amy for leading off the reading with a fiery focus that got us past the sometimes tangled 18th century prose and deep into the meaning of the document -- which is a remarkable piece of creative maladjustment, we feel.

David told us later that when Thomas Jefferson went off to write the thing, with all his notes from the discussions and arguments and correspondence among the Founding Fathers, nobody -- not even him -- had any idea he was going to take it that far. But as he sat there trying to weave all those thoughts and ideas into a coherent argument, some truly radical conclusions emerged on the page in front of him. And when the group heard what he had written, they all nodded their heads, slowly realizing that Yes, that is what we meant to say, that's exactly where we've been heading all along -- who knew? (This may or may not be an accurate interpretation of events, but it's certainly a phenomenon we've witnessed.)

After Amy took us through the introduction, we all took turns reading out all the examples of injury and usurpation visited upon the colonists by King George. Some seemed relatively trivial ("He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant"), others possibly exaggerated ("He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people"), others eerily familiar ("transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences"). And yes, there is that unfortunate reference to the "merciless Indian savages," and none at all to the thousands of slaves already living in the colonies, who might well have craved a little Life, Liberty and Pursuit of Happiness themselves.

But really, it's a pretty solid list of genuine complaints. And they've tried Petitioning for Redress, and been "answered only by repeated injury." They've even appealed to their "British brethren," who have done nothing to "disavow these usurpations." (This gave us pause: how many of our own government's misdeeds have we failed to disavow?) By the time you get to that part about mutually pledging to each other "our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor," you're feeling pretty damn proud of these 56 gentlemen. Not just for being willing to "abolish the forms [of government] to which they were accustomed," and take the leap of faith that they'd be able to come up with something better. Also for articulating the right -- the duty -- to overturn a government that has become destructive.

And finally, for envisioning a world where it is in fact self-evident that all men are created equal, thereby challenging everyone who came after them to make that world a reality -- sometimes in ways even Thomas Jefferson never could have imagined.

And then -- finally, finally -- the sun went down, and it was time to honor this historic flash of insight by lighting up the rockets' red glare:



Happy Independence Day to all!