Mike Morin

A very happy Fourth of July to you. We are just five years away from celebrating the sestercentennial anniversary of the original 1776 Independence Day. I’ll be observing independence from not one, but two holiday brushes with harm to my person.

I got to thinking that memories from this particular holiday for me run the gamut from joyous to just about deadly. While I will not be lighting firecrackers, sparklers or Roman Candles to observe this Fourth, I was nearly taken out by a misguided bottle rocket about 20 years ago. Have you ever heard the sound of a whizzing incendiary device pass by your right ear from about two inches away? I have. The next door neighbor set one off on the beach and it found its way to our back deck and crashed harmlessly into the glass door. And that was the less serious of my two close calls on Independence Days.

Let’s lighten the mood with a happier memory. Back in 2003, my date and I camped out on blankets in short centerfield at Holman Stadium. The breeze was light as the rocket’s red glares burst overhead as we lay on our backs. OK, I can’t help myself here.

This side bar anecdote shows how danger follows me everywhere. This is the same Holman Stadium where I emceed the Telegraph’s version of American Idol around 2005, during a raging electrical storm. The stage was set up around second base as fans huddled in the relative safety of the grand stands. While lightning crashed all around us on a stage loaded with electrical gear, the singers and I took refuge in a tent about 20 feet from one of the stadium’s tall metal light towers. I doubt Ryan Seacrest has ever put his life on the line for American Idol.

Another standout Fourth of July memory involves weather. Right around 1979, I was taking in the fireworks in downtown Toledo, Ohio. All during the display, we could hear the real thing building behind us. A roaring thunderstorm approached, and in the best finale I ever saw, cloud-to-cloud lightning stole the show from the man-made pyrotechnics. The one-two punch was brilliant and frightening and overwhelming.

In 1965, at 14-years old, my next door neighbor made sure I saw stars on that particular Fourth of July. Even though it was early afternoon, my fireworks display came compliments of a baseball crack to my forehead. I obliviously walked into a full swing from Arthur. It knocked me out and earned me a trip to a local urgent care center (they weren’t called that then). Several stitches later with a gauze bandage serving as my headband, I returned home, only to become the proud owner of two black eyes in the coming weeks.

Despite my holiday brushes with mortality, I still enjoy the spirit of our country’s birthday. I especially cherished July 4, 1976, when America celebrated its Bicentennial. There were no runs, no hits and no lightning strikes that day for me.

Contact Mike Morin at mike morinmedia@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at @MikeMorinMedia. His column runs the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month.