I don't have many fond memories of New Year's Eves. For the most part, I can split all of them for the last two decades into sober (boring) or drunk (empty). Actually, that pretty much sums up every calendar day since my first drink back in 1984 or so. This will mark my fourth clean-and-sober NYE, and for the most part I've simply watched as everyone around me got shit-faced. I guess it means that I'm the one person that is guaranteed to enjoy the Rose Bowl Parade the next morning (right). My favorite recent NYE would have to be the Y2K eve. I spent most of it on an upstairs porch that overlooked downtown. It was a rainy night (eerie for San Diego) and the one thing that will always stick with me was the heavy gunfire at midnight. I could hear the sound of bullets as they fell from the sky harmlessly landing in the yard. That and the burning down of my favorite Soup Plantation.
As for childhood memories of NYE, one particular stands out. I'm not sure of the year, but I remember that my father bought my brother and me a ton of firecrackers. Since they were banned within the city of Selma (AL), Dad decided to take us out to the parking lot of the company for which he worked, which happened to be about 100 yards outside the city limits. I remember driving out there and listening to the BluebonnetBowl on the radio. I remember it as being a cold night so we were more than likely sporting a recently gifted for xmas coat, but no gloves--and this will be important to the story.
Dad would have given us all of the standard warnings regarding the lighting of and escaping from firecrackers. Basically, it would have been "Light it and get the hell away." I think as we went about trying to destroy tree trunks and ant hills, he started loading up his truck with supplies (Dad worked as an electrician and was travelling out of town during the week). Not to say that he wasn't supervising us, but I think he felt that as boys we would be wise enough to not do something...stupid. But he neglected to give us (read: me) the warning not to throw them, and if you must throw one, don't throw it as you would a baseball. See, the fuses on these black cats were often unpredictable. One would be painfully slow, to the point where we would nearly have to relight it at a lower point. But then there was that one, and it happened to be the one that I decided to light and then imitate Charlie Hough. I remember the pain as it traveled down my arm. It was as if my hand had been the recipient of a blow by one of Dad's pipe benders. Of course, I was on the ground when the realization of what had happened actually sank in.
So from that I gained both a healthy respect for firecrackers and three deep purple fingernails. No lecture from Dad though. Once he saw that my hand was still in tact, he knew it was time to go home. And I don't remember if I stayed up to watch Dick Clark rock in the New Year.
Have a safe and happy one, one and all. Drink one for the clean and sober; we'll stay on the right side of the road for you.
