Fireworks include me, Light shows leave me out.

Fireworks have always meant something special to me—not just because of the holiday celebrations or the excitement in the air, but because they actually include me. Even though I’m totally blind now, I still enjoy fireworks. I can hear them. I can feel them. And I can still picture the colors in my mind.

The pops, the crackles, the deep booms that rumble through your chest—those are things I can experience fully. I remember the colors from when I still had some sight: the glowing reds, oranges, peach tones, bright yellows, sharp whites, cool blues, and even a few greens. When I hear a firework explode, I match that sound with the color I remember. It's like the sky is painting just for me—but through sound instead of sight.

But laser shows and silent light shows? They don’t include me at all. I can’t hear them, I can’t feel them, and if no one tells me what’s happening, there’s nothing there for me. I just sit in silence, while everyone else is reacting to something I can’t access.

It reminds me a lot of going to the movies. Even when I still had some sight, I couldn’t see the movie screen well. It was always too dark. But TV? That was different—TV screens were brighter, easier for me to see, so I felt more included. Light shows are like movie theaters—dark, silent, and totally visual. Fireworks are like a bright, loud TV show in the sky. I can follow along, be part of it, and enjoy it in my own way.

And then there are events like the Special Olympics opening ceremonies. Let me be honest: those make me furious. I get dragged into this huge crowd, packed with people, and I can’t even find my friends because it’s too loud and chaotic. And suddenly, everyone starts screaming, clapping, reacting—all over something like a torch lighting up. A light on a screen.

I mean, come on. What’s so special about seeing some stupid light light up a screen when I can’t see it at all? I’m totally blind, for goodness' sake. Nobody tells me what’s happening. Nobody thinks to say, “Hey, here’s what we’re all reacting to.” I’m just stuck there, feeling like I don’t belong in that moment. It’s not for me. And I know I’m not the only blind person who feels that way.

That’s why I’ll always love fireworks. They don’t leave me behind. They don’t depend on sight alone. They give me something to hold on to—sound, feeling, memory, and imagination. That’s something worth celebrating. 

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