When I was a kid, we always spent the month of July at a cabin on a lake in Connecticut. It was not a fancy, schmancy neighborhood - in fact, it was a little bit redneckish (still is).
So, the fourth always meant hours of illegal fireworks demonstrations, increased traffic in the burn unit, drunken fights at various cabins around the lake and lots of loud music. Noise travels exceedingly well on water. So, between the fascinating bouts of domestic violence and drunken debauchery, and the illegal fireworks displays - we kids used to spend the whole evening wrapped in blankets on our dock watching the neighbors and/or their explosives (of one kind and another).
We were always disappointed, however, that our dad wasn't cool enough to have any fireworks to shoot from our dock.
One year, dad must have gotten tired of our complaints. So, he set us up on the other dock (for safety) and pulled out one, lone firework that he promised would produce excitement for hours. No one else around here will set off anything like this, I can promise you.
We sat dockside for quite awhile watching the brilliant glow from this fantastic firework - waiting for something more to happen... waiting, waiting.... waiting some more.
It turns out - road flares just aren't that exciting.