The City of Chicago, traditionally schedules their Independence Day fireworks for 3rd of July, and this year I found out why – they couldn’t compete on the 4th.

It was as though every father on the North Side of Chicago was competing for the Cool Dad of the Year award – and Mr. Cleaver and I seemed to be only people along the Illinois side of Lake Michigan without a personal arsenal of fireworks. On the Forth, as we grilled burgers and sweet corn, we were treated to the cacophony of whizzes bangs and pops of hundreds of firecrackers and small fireworks. As the evening grew darker, the serious displays began. We saw at least three separate private displays of large-scale fireworks, more or less, continually shot off for an hour and half, and that was before the big show started just behind our backs. 

As it turns out, a golf club located on the block adjacent to our apartment building sends off Fireworks on the 4th, as well as the first and last days of summer – and their display was a real treat. Mr. Cleaver and I agreed that these were on par or better than the Portland or Napa fireworks (our respective hometowns). 

There were in a couple fireflies joining the fray and adding a twinkle or two of their own.

All in all, it was a pretty perfect fourth.

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