Raising Fireworks (Challenge)

I peer over a shelf copy of motor cycling news, disturbed by a small child dragging his father into the over stocked corner shop. His sticky handprints briefly fog the glass cabinet, as the child peers in and points, ready to tantrum all his demands for rockets that someone else will launch.

It used to be easy getting what was given. I can see them now, on the windowsill wrapped in brown paper, Standard dark blue, not to be opened. I did my best not to explode.

I watch the handprints fade as dad instinctively digs deeper; the boy turns to his weekly comic, already thinking of the sweets he will choose.

When November the 5th arrives, their event will be organised trying to wrestle junior into his old school coat, while he holds the Xbox controller in his hand.

I don’t blame him at all, he hasn’t trawled every patch of waste land to collect wood or fought off bonfire raids from rival gangs. He will never siphon petrol from a neighbour’s car, set his hair on fire around the campfire, taste burnt spuds wrapped in foil or asked a penny for the guy.

So why, would he care?