My father loved fireworks. Then again, I want to believe that it was his love of fireworks that compelled him to place dangerous explosives in my hands when I was just a small child. For all I really know he could have been using fireworks as a test to determine how smart I was. If I kept all my fingers, then I was a bright boy. If I blew one or all of them off, then it provided him with proof that I needed to be watched closely.

As far back as I can remember I had access to an assortment of fireworks. There were always sparklers, bottle rockets, Roman candles, firecrackers and cones around the house. My father, being the lawbreaker that he was, would drive into a neighboring town to purchase fireworks. As most good fireworks were illegal in my home state, my dad had to sign a card stating that within the next 48 hours all the fireworks he bought would be transported to a state where they were legal. Instead of heading to a state where it was legal to blow off your fingers or blind yourself with dangerous fireworks, my family would stay in town so we could break the law and enjoy fireworks in the comfort of our backyard.

At that time in my short life, I didn't regard popping firecrackers or even launching bottle rockets at six in the morning as a nuisance. I viewed it as being a patriotic American. I was so patriotic that I once wore a T-shirt that read, "You can have my fireworks when you pry them from my cold, dead nubs."

Of course, my father wasn't content to let me terrorize the neighborhood by myself. He was a man who believed in sharing the fun and teaching me economic principles at the same time. Thanks to my father's belief that I should learn how supply and demand really worked, I was the neighborhood supplier of fireworks from ages 10 through 14. If anyone needed fireworks, then they came to see me. When the big kids had Roman candle fights up and down the street, guess who sold them everything they needed? A little kid went to the ER with burns from sparklers, guess who supplied the fun?

For the most part, my time spent with fireworks was enjoyable. There were, however, incidents that made you wonder why my father trusted me so much. For instance, when I was 10 years old, I had 4 friends in my bedroom and was showing them my impressive inventory of fireworks. For reasons I still can't fathom, I pulled out a Roman candle and held it in my left hand. I had a match in my right hand. My intention was not to actually ignite the firework in my parent's house. What I wanted to do was scare my friends a bit. So I struck the match and held it 5 inches away from the fuse of the Roman candle. As that didn't do much to scare anyone, I brought the match closer - 4 inches, 3 inches, and then 2 inches. Then I came within an inch of the fuse. This, as I soon found out, is not advised. To my dismay, the Roman candle ignited.

I was 10 years old and wasn't wise enough to do the right thing. So I did the first thing that popped into my head - I threw the Roman candle on the floor. When the Roman candle began shooting balls of fire everywhere, we all screamed at the top of our lungs. The colorful fireballs shot around the room, burning the carpet and the curtains. My mother entered the smoke-filled room and stared directly at me. "It went off by itself," I offered, hoping she'd believe this lie.

My mother wasn't a fool. In fact, she taught me two important lessons that day. The first is that it is hard to sit when your backside hurts. The second is that you don't make a profit when you have to replace carpet and curtains.

I'm an adult now and I refuse to buy fireworks for either myself or my kids. Don't get the idea that my childhood troubles are solely to blame. Okay, maybe the Roman candle incident explains why my kids will never know the joy of almost burning down a house. The reason I stay away from fireworks is because every community I have called home has harsh penalties for possessing and/or using fireworks. I could handle a small fine, but I'm not willing to risk jail time for fireworks.

I don't know about you, but the thought of being in jail with murderers scares me. After all, it's not like the possession of fireworks allows you to appear tough around the other inmates. For instance, if I were in the county jail and an inmate walked up to me and said, "I'm in here because I sliced a guy in half for stepping on my shoe. What are you in here for?"

I would want to appear tough, but I doubt I would I scare anyone by shouting, "I'm in here because I was playing with sparklers!"

This holiday season I will do what I do every year - attend a fireworks show. I like firework shows because they are safe and fun. But more importantly, I like them because I don't risk going to jail and being cellmates with a guy named Nubs Magillicutty.

Have a safe and happy Independence Day.