When I was a kid, my mom told me stories about working as a receptionist for a hospital, back when they used pneumatic tubes to deliver messages and computers were basically 8 colors at most.
A drunk father burst into the ER holding one screaming child in front of him with both arms, with another child in tow, sobbing.
A bunch of the the held kid’s fingers had been blown off.
…
My mom never told me if they managed to reattach the fingers. I’m guessing not.
She did tell me what had caused this to occur:
This guy thought it would be a fun thing to get a bunch of m80s, get in his car, with his kids, and drive down the highway, drinking, whilst lighting and chucking m80s willy nilly.
At one point, one of the kids opened their window, and woops, one of the m80s flew back into the car.
It wasn’t even the 4th of July.
…
Later as an older kid, I loved fireworks, but respected them.
Always had a nearby source of water, always wore sunglasses and ear plugs, always chuck something handheld if you think you lit it, but you aren’t sure, basically always follow the instructions, and even then sometimes they are crap, so always have some kind of ditch or cover to hide in/behind.
…
I do not understand how stupid you have to be to mix drinking and explosives or drinking and guns or drinking and driving, sadly, probably the majority of people I’ve met in my life have no problem with doing at least one of those.