A long time ago in 1975, I was a little 3-year-old boy. At the turn of the year 1975/1976, I went out with my dad and brothers to set off fireworks, as is customary in Iceland. When the New Year’s Eve comedy show was over on TV, we would go into the living room. It was our habit at our then apartment to look out the big window. We would see the fireworks start to go up in our neighborhood. As we all stood by the window, the fireworks started to come up one by one. When the time was 23.45 we put on our outdoor clothes and headed out into the snow. One group went down to the yard and set off fireworks, while the other group stayed up on the balcony of the 3rd floor and watched the others set off the fireworks and bombs. This time I was old enough to be allowed to go out to the yard with my dad and brothers, while my mom stayed up with sister Hekla.
My dad, brothers and I went down to the yard and set up the pipe for the fireworks, just by the flagpole in the yard. All around us, fireworks were exploding and fireworks sticks were coming down on the snow around us. For the first time ever I got to help my dad light one of the rockets and I was so proud of myself for doing it. I knew that my mother and sister Hekla were watching, and that Hekla would definitely be jealous of me. As I am standing there by the flagpole and watching the fireworks explode, my dad grabs me quickly and yanks me away. A second later a rather large firework explodes where I had been standing. My father had saved me from having a major accident, as I would most likely have been deformed in the face or blinded. I quickly grasped what had happened and refused to let go of my dad’s neck. My dad was the best.
