Always Read The Label

Many of the great lessons of my life were learned in Jr. High School.  It seems it was a very enlightening period of my development.  One such revelation came in late June, nay it was on the Fourth of July  that said revelation occurred.

As is the case for many young men around this particular time of year I became intrigued with all things fiery, explosive, and loud.  In short I was captivated by the thought of spending my own, hard earned money, on fireworks.

Now mind you that these were the early days of municipal intervention into personal safety.  “Fireworks” as we have come to call them had become as they are today, a mere image of what they once were.  In fact, what we were accustomed to in my day were not nearly as exciting as the swirling, spinning, whistling, crackling, screaming, fountains available to my children today.  Our “fireworks” as we shall call them were really nothing more than sparklers and caps with an occasional smoking snake and colored smoke bomb.

To add insult to injury, my brother, some twelve years my senior, along with my similarly aged cousins and their compatriots began to circulate rumors of a bygone era of “fireworks” that made our sulfur craving appetites rage.  They told stories of M-80’s, Cherry Bombs, Bottle Rockets, and more that created a fantasy for explosions so deep that you could almost hear John Phillip Sousa playing in the family room.  These stories would usually end with a sad reminiscence of a day forever lost in Americana, and a day that I would never have the opportunity to see.  I longed to see just one milk box blown over the house or a single Roman Candle blazing patriotic trails of sparks, flame, and color through our neighborhood!  But, alas, these days have passed us by.

But perhaps not.  As I return to my story.  Happening this particular year on our little fireworks booth I was captivated at the sight of the biggest single firework I had ever seen.  In blazing letters across the front it read, ROMAN smoke CANDLE!  My prayers had been answered!  The ban had been lifted, I could finally by a Roman Candle.  I forfeited my normal allotment of sparklers, smoke balls, snakes, and whatever else.  I had found that Pearl of Great Price and I would sacrifice all to obtain it.

Taking it home and showing my parents, my father attempted to prepare me for what was to come.  “Son,” he said in his most concerned parenting voice, “I don’t think this is going to do what you think it’s going to do”.  I assured him that it would, I had made my decision and I was going to stand by it no matter what.  This was going to be the greatest Fourth of July ever and all of my friends were going to envy me when I told them about my Roman Candle.

The time came, I lit off my sampling of sparklers and smoke bombs, then anxiously I handed the prize to my dad and awaited the crackling and flashing of lights.  The fuse was lit, then smoke began to pour from the device.  My excitement mounted as I thought, “It’s just getting warmed up, the real show will begin any second”.  Then the smoke changed color, then to another, and another.  After about the fourth or fifth color I realized what had happened.  They sold me a dud!  I still refused to believe that I had made a wrong choice.

Later, with my head held low, and my festive spirits even lower, I picked up the empty casing and something amazing had happened.  After all the heat and fire, somehow the print on the packaging had enlarged, and there, in big bold letters were the words, Roman SMOKE Candle. 

Disappointment has taught me to read what the label says, not what I want it to say.  It has also taught me that packaging and marketing are powerful tools.  Now I spend my Independence Days curled up in a blanket with my kids and I let the professionals do what they do.  Besides, the ooo’s and ahhh’s of my children are better than any firework you could buy, legal or legendary.

Happy Fourth of July, and may God Bless America.

Gary Russell
www.defendmylife.com
503-519-3592