America the Boom-tiful
[Hook]
You’re sitting in a folding lawn chair, holding one of those tiny American flags, while watching $380 worth of fireworks disappear in just 3 minutes. Your kid is waving a half-melted sparkler like it’s a Jedi saber, and someone three streets over just set off something that definitely voided their homeowner’s insurance.
Why do we do this every July?
It’s probably a folk thing.
[Intro Music]
[Intro]
Welcome to It’s Probably a Folk Thing – the podcast about everyday experiences that turn out to be older, weirder, and far more meaningful than we realized. I’m Aaron Crawford, and today we’re talking about Fourth of July fireworks. And not just the boom and ooh and ahh – but why blowing things up feels like celebration.
[Segment 1: Fire in the Sky and Fire in the Past]
Long before the first sparkler, people gathered around fire for festivals and rituals. Ancient Celts lit bonfires for midsummer. The Chinese used firecrackers to scare off evil spirits during New Year celebrations. Hindu festivals like Diwali celebrate light triumphing over darkness – literally with fire. Fire has always been a marker of transitions, of warding, of welcoming.
Before it was ritual, fire was survival. Our distant ancestors used it to keep predators at bay, to light the night, to cook meat so it wouldn’t make us sick. Fire was protection and nourishment – a tool that gave humans the edge over creatures stronger and faster than us.
It’s primal. Fire means life, warmth, safety – and danger. A perfectly folkloric combo.
[Segment 2: Enter Gunpowder, Stage Left]
Once we humans figured out how to control fire with explosions (thanks, China) ritual went airborne. The first gunpowder fireworks in the Tang Dynasty weren’t for war. They were for joy: marking weddings and holidays.
Europeans picked it up and brought it to their own royal parties. Fireworks became a display of power and prosperity – sometimes launched over castles; sometimes just to show you could afford a really big bang.
[Segment 3: America the Boom-tiful]
So how did this end up in your suburban cul-de-sac? Because the U.S. was basically born in fire. The Revolutionary War was full of cannon blasts and musket fire. In 1777 (on the first anniversary of the Declaration of Independence) Philadelphia celebrated with a 13-gun salute, bonfires, and (you guessed it) fireworks.
John Adams even wrote that the occasion should be marked “with Pomp and Parade… Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other.” That’s 1776 for “light stuff on fire and make it loud.”
The tradition stuck. Today, we call it patriotism. But it’s also theater. It’s a public, celebratory ritual. It leads to community bonding. Perhaps most importantly: This absurdly excessive sensory overload loudly proclaims: This matters.
[Closing: Folk or Not?]
So when you’re lighting that Roman candle, dodging neighborhood bottle rockets, and explaining to your dog that the world is not ending – remember, you’re taking part in something ancient. Fire as spectacle. Fire as memory. Fire as meaning.
In this case, meaning that we have the freedom to choose, to worship, to think, to advocate as we wish. And on this special night, we mean to celebrate that freedom by blowing up a bunch of stuff.
It’s definitely a folk thing.
Until next time.
