Every Fourth of July my parents would take us to the lake to see the fireworks.
I have distinct memories of my brother Karl flicking his boogers off the edge of the dock into the darkness. We used to argue over this point, but I’m pretty sure he did this every year till he was 17.
One year I pantsed him while he was doing his pick and flick routine. I yanked down his swim trunks right as the first firework of the night erupted. Karl’s whole body tensed and he lost his balance, tipping over the edge into the water. He claimed that I pushed him, but I maintained that my only offense was the pantsing.
Sometimes it’s strange which memories you hold onto the tightest. After losing Karl, I was afraid that I wouldn’t remember anything at all. I hope he’s telling the same stories to everybody up in heaven. His version, of course. I’ll straighten out the facts when I meet him up there some day.