Ring Your Bell

Perspective is everything. Well, I don’t know if it’s everything, but I know that it is something, and that it certainly matters. A lot.

One summer while I was in college, I worked in Las Vegas. On the 4th of July that year, some friends and I went out to one of the hills northwest of the city and climbed to the summit. Off in the distance and down in the valley were the lights of all the casinos. After the sun set, we watched as fireworks displays started popping up all along the strip. It was so far away that we couldn’t hear any of the bangs or booms as the fireworks went off. From our perch on the hillside, we felt as if we were watching little Lego sets celebrate America’s Independence. I decided I didn’t like watching fireworks at a distance. Cool moment? Most definitely, but I wanted to feel each and every boom in my chest as my eyes tried to adjust to the constant flashing panorama. There’s a reason that fireworks still draw big crowds increasingly fickle modern age. You can’t capture even a fraction of the experience from a distance, even on the biggest of screens.

The best fireworks show I ever saw was on the Ohio River. Every Labor Day, the WEBN Fireworks display is second to none. For 50 years now, they have wowed millions with their action-packed, non-stop Rozzi display. Practically all of the Tri-State area heads down days in advance to the Cincinnati or Newport side of the river to stake out their spot with a tarp, some tent stakes or rocks. On the day of, you’ve got to get there early just to make it through the mass of humanity. Afterwards, you better have a full tank of gas because the highway becomes a sea of unmoving motor vehicles. Everyone keeps coming back because the show itself is unrivaled. They show up early and battle the traffic late, because they want the front row perspective. So close that it feels a little unsafe and where every volley rattles your fillings just a bit.

My two FAVORITE fireworks displays, didn’t come with any traffic jams or massive crowds. They both happened within a week of each other in September of 2023. Everly was diagnosed with Leukemia at the start of August that year. Over the course of a weekend our lives went from the suburban chaos of juggling daily kids’ activities with work responsibilities to the stark and sterile silence of a hospital room.

For her initial course of treatment, we spent practically 40 straight days at Cincinnati Children’s. The first phase of treatment was only a month long, but arsenal of chemotherapies, and steroids had done a hard reset to Ever’s immune system. We waited day after day after day for her daily blood labs to show she had even a few cells worth of internal self-defense. She couldn’t be released back into general pop until her body had a half decent chance to defend itself against things like a garden variety cold.

Smack dab in the middle of that seemingly endless waiting game was Labor Day and the WEBN Fireworks. All day long I made jokes with passing doctors and nurses asking them what a guy had to do to get permission to go the Helicopter Landing Pad atop the hospital to watch the fireworks. Nobody was giving me any actionable intel so I quickly shifted to plan B, because we had to find some way to see the fireworks from somewhere besides the tv screen in our hospital room.

As it came close to time for the fireworks to get started, I asked our nurse if Everly and I could go downstairs for a bedtime walk. We got our special sticker, put on our shoes, and tried to act as naturally as possible as we left the floor. Once in the lobby we did our best to not look like a cancer patient and her dad as we made for the door. Everly hadn’t stepped outside the hospital for over a month, and now She and I were jay-walking across the intersection of Burnett and Kasota.

We made it to the tallest nearby parking garage. Normally jam packed with hospital employees’ cars, it was empty for the holiday weekend. Everly asked in her hoarse little voice where we were going, and I told her to just wait and see. I had brought sanitizing wipes with me and used them on the door and elevator buttons. Finally, we emerged atop the parking garage, and we walked over to the corner of the roof level that faced the river. It was almost time for the fireworks.

If you aren’t familiar with Children’s hospital, it is on a hilltop about 4 miles from the river. My harebrained scheme was half-baked at best. I didn’t even know if we’d be able to see the fireworks. Sometimes a half-baked plan is all you need. On that humid September night, Everly and I were breathing fresh, unrecycled air and that was thrilling in itself. I glanced at my watch. It was time. They should be starting soon. I hadn’t even considered if there was another building that could be blocking our view. I scanned the distant horizon with my little girl in my arms.

There they were. Far off on the skyline but unblocked by our surrounding buildings. Everly smiled as I pointed them out. We watched as they quietly spilled up over the rooftops to our south. Different colors, heights, and shaped. So very different than anything we had been experiencing the past several weeks. As we watched in stillness atop the parking garage, my focus shifted from the floral bursts to the face of my daughter. I just soaked it all in for a moment.

A question from Everly broke the silence. “Dad, can we go back to our room? These fireworks aren’t hurting my ears.” I wasn’t sure I had heard her correctly. “Evers, you want to go in because they AREN’T loud enough?” I inquired. “Yeah dad, they don’t hurt my ears.” A girl after my own heart.

We made our way back over to the door to the elevator and stairs. I gave it a pull. Locked. I hadn’t expected that. I carried Everly and all of our medical stuff in downward circular spirals for five floors to the garage exit. We re-entered Children’s, and took that unlocked elevator back up to our hospital room and the WEBN Fireworks were still on the TV. Our nurse entered the room for vitals. “That must have been some walk, your dad is still sweating! Ohhh, you’ve got the fireworks on TV.” She said to Everly. “We both think they are better in person.” I quipped and winked at Evers. Together, we decided that when Everly finally was released from the hospital we would have a firework display of our own. One that we could feel in our chests.

Almost a week later, as another day of inpatient care came to a close, we got the surprise we had been hoping for. The Doctors were ok with us going home. We packed as fast as we could before anybody could change their minds and drove as fast as we could home without getting any speeding tickets. As our minivan pulled into our driveway, Everly’s three big brothers jumped and held up signs welcoming her home.

Evers had a little recliner back then, and we carried it out into our culdesac. In no time at all the fireworks we had purchased just days before were all lined up. We didn’t waste any time at all before we started lighting those puppies up. They screamed. They crackled. Some of them boomed loud enough to shake the windows of all the surrounding houses. We found out later, that it was the homecoming football game at the high school nearby. Everyone there thought it was part of the festivities. For us it was the biggest homecoming festivity of our entire lives.

In no time at all our fireworks were all scattered and smoldering at the end of our driveway. I hadn’t seen even half of them go off either. That didn’t matter though, because I had the best vantage point. While our homestyle fireworks display lit up the night, my eyes weren’t turned upward, they fell to the gaze of my daughter. That was the view I wouldn’t have been able to put a price tag on. Perspective is everything, or something, but in that moment, I knew I had the best seat in the house.

I’ve been to dozens of fireworks shows. Some I loved because of how massive they were. Others I loved because of how they seemed a little unhinged and out of control. The best ones always seemed to have me craning my neck, rubbing my eyes and left my ears ringing. None of those were my favorite though. My two favorite fireworks displays, I didn’t really see much of the show. But I did get to watch the reflection of the fireworks in my daughter’s eyes. When you are reminded of how precarious life is. That it can be gone in a flash. Your perspective shifts, and you begin to cherish the people that are with you, not the show everyone else is watching. You discover that being with the ones you love can be most experience you’ll ever have. That’s when you really begin to feel the them in your chest.