Fireworks

It started with a small sparkler, a brief flare of color that fizzled, died and might have done no harm - but within a few hours it had ignited and started a blazing fire.  The families aligned on either side of the flames, sister against sister, mother doing her best to make peace, children caught between.  It was the eve of Independence Day, still daylight, but the fireworks were made of tears and threats, harsh words and ultimatums - they were loud, angry, and desperate, ringing with accusation and blame.



True enough, our choices are so much our own that we sometimes forget the collateral damage.  So busy are we fighting fire with fire, matching and overshouting each hurtful word, that we wander off target and use anything we can think of as ammunition.  Original disagreements turn poisonous and any legitimate point we might have been trying to make gets lost in the noise. 


The children listen, not knowing which way to go and trying hard not to cry.  They may not comprehend the language or the issues, but they completely understand the emotions, especially the angry ones.



It seems to me that we can always choose to fuel the fire or do our best to put it out.  


We do too much of one and not enough of the other.  And only the fireworks are left.