"I've Never Used a Port-O-Potty"

Americans are all pyro-maniacs at heart. Nashville had millions of people staring at the same point in the city, drooling over flashing colors. Where else can you find that? Hundreds of other cities across the U.S.A. Count me among the pyros.

Taking a break from the drama of trying to spend more money than I have made life-to-date, let’s talk about America’s birthday. We have a family at church that owns a parking lot downtown. They are kind enough to donate their enormous patch of blacktop every year for “food, fellowship, fireworks, and alliteration.” That might not be the exact title, but it’s close. Riverwood (that would be my church home, and thus, is mentioned first) and Northside have been doing this for a few years now. This year, we invited Jackson Park to join in on the good times.

We showed up a little early to help set everything up. Good news is, the bouncy house people also showed up early to drop off the two Moon Bounces. We got everything set up in record time and set out for the bouncy house. Sure, the youth minister and I probably each exceeded the overall weight limit for these things. However, Independence Day must be a big day for the party rental place, so no one was there to enforce the rules. Having never done a front flip, cartwheel, back flip, or a handstand, I was suddenly presented with the perfect opportunity to achieve all four.

As a twenty-four year old male, I have discovered a bouncy house hangover is nothing to joke about. I failed at all of my four inflatable missions. Having failed at the front flip with a couple of hops to build up inertia, I decided that perhaps I should try a flat-footed back flip. Apparently there is an invisible table located outside the entrance of the Moon Bounce where you must check your logic. As I landed on my face on my one back flip attempt, I discovered I was in pain. Not in my face per se, more the toe I had apparently gotten caught on the netting and then slammed into the floor of the blow-up mansion. I chalked it up as a mild sprain and continued bouncing.

Here I lounge on my July 5th holiday, icing my foot and trying to massage the pain out of the neck I landed on countless times. Lesson learned. Until next year.

Regardless of my pain, a good time was had last night. Plenty of hamburgers and hotdogs, youth group kids conquering their fear of port-o-potties, a little concert, a period of worship consisting of old folks mumbling through newfangled devotional songs, children happily bouncing in the puddles of sweat and blood we left for them in the bouncy houses, catching up with old friends and church league rivals, 4 visits to the dessert table, 93 degrees, 84 ounces of fluid, one folding chair that was far too small for me, and lots of explosions. Like I said, a good time.

Hey, America, let’s do this again next year. Even if China has taken over by then, we’ll be alright – they make all the fireworks anyway.