I admit it—I’m a Baby Boomer and major Jimmy Buffet fan. In my opinion Jimmy’s lesser-known recordings are some of his best. “The Night I Painted the Sky” describes participating in a fireworks display on the island of St. Martin. Some of the lines transport me to my childhood summers of the 1950s…

“Independence Day, and all I remember was a midnight rainbow that fell from the sky. As I stand on the beach, I slowly surrender to the child in me that can’t say goodbye.”

“Oh, I am still a child when it comes to something wild—that was the night I painted the sky.”

My parents, poorly paid teachers, were quite creative at finding inexpensive entertainment for their five children. Every July, the price of a few sandwiches and a trip into downtown Little Rock provided one of our favorite adventures.

War Memorial Stadium was the scene then of Little Rock’s annual Fourth of July fireworks show. The original stadium was not completely enclosed, but had grandstand seating on the east and west sides, with the north and south sides open to grassy hillsides. If, like us, you couldn’t afford grandstand seating for a family of seven, you could sit on the grass and watch from outside. Here’s how it went…

July 4, 1950-something: Five kids awake giddy with excitement. “It’s the Fourtha -JULY! We’re going to the FIREWORKS!!” Mama’s efforts to prepare for the outing are continually derailed by our rowdiness and endless questions. Finally, patience exhausted, she hollers “Go outside and play! It’s not time to go yet!!”

Mid-afternoon we are allowed back inside, bathed, dressed in clean T-shirts and shorts and loaded into the Ford with picnic provisions and a couple of quilts. Heading into town, our destination is the picnic grounds across Fair Park Boulevard from the zoo, where we five wild-things head for the playground to run, slide, swing and chase each other while Daddy unloads the car. Mama spreads out supper: potato chips, Kool-Aid, cookies and “baloney” sandwiches, which we gobble with gusto and grimy hands.

Daylight fades, we load up and are off to the stadium to find a good spot for watching the fireworks. We kids run and roll in the grass while Daddy spreads quilts on the ground. Dusk falls, we settle down and wait for the show to begin. Finally we hear muffled announcements from the stadium, a band plays the National Anthem…

Silence…silence…BOOM!!!!

The next half hour is a feast of light, sound and color ending with a long, thunderous volley. Too soon it’s over, leaving only wisps of smoke and the smell of powder lingering in the air. Quilts are folded, discarded shoes retrieved and we start home. Lively chatter fills the car as we relive our favorite moments, arguing about which volley was the best, the prettiest, the loudest. Chatter dwindles. One by one we fall asleep to the hum of the motor.

Though no longer held at War Memorial, Little Rock’s annual fireworks display remains a tradition, now on the riverfront. And that makes me happy. In our lightning-paced, sometimes bewildering world, this child of the 50s loves knowing today’s kids are thrilled by the same simple pleasures my siblings and I were. Moms still make picnic suppers to be eaten with gusto and grimy hands. Dads still spread quilts on the ground in the twilight. Kids still swing, slide and roll in the grass until the sun goes down and it’s time...

Silence…silence…BOOM!!

Families are still painting the sky.