Red, White, and Just-Right: Finding Our Fourth of July Rhythm with Colton

Red, White, and Just-Right: Finding Our Fourth of July Rhythm with Colton

Colton loves the Fourth of July. In fact, it’s his third favorite holiday.

He loves the colors, the flags, the idea of celebration, and most of all—he loves fireworks. But not the crowds. Not the noise. Not the overstimulation that comes with packed parking lots, booming speakers, and fireworks exploding right overhead.

When he was little, we tried taking him to a few big, city-run firework shows—back before we fully understood his diagnoses like sensory processing disorder. Like many new parents, we were eager to experience the tradition: a blanket on the grass, glow sticks in hand, and the classic “oohs and aahs” under the night sky.

But for Colton, it quickly became too much.

Every time, we had to leave just a few "oohs" in. The crowds, the loudness, the waiting—it was all just overwhelming. He would flip out, and we’d make a quick, heartbroken exit. We felt disappointed—not in him, but that our little guy didn’t get to enjoy the magic so many other kids seemed to love.

Adapting the Celebration

Over time, we realized we had to adapt. If Colton was going to enjoy fireworks, it would need to be on his terms.

So we started going for drives. We’d pile the three of us into the car with snacks, blankets, and a sense of adventure, cruising up and down the highway near our home once the sun went down. We’d watch the fireworks from the comfort of the car—quiet, contained, and with the soft hum of the engine soothing us all. From that view, the sky was still magical. And most importantly, Colton could enjoy it without the chaos.

In recent years, as he’s grown, we’ve introduced a few small fireworks in our backyard. Nothing loud. Just enough sparkle and color to feel special. Colton loves helping pick them out and counts down the minutes until it’s dark enough to start. No crowds. No surprises. Just us. We adjust the sensory input as needed, and he feels safe.

Even Quiet Celebrations Have Loud Moments

This year, despite all our planning, we hit a bump in the road.

Colton’s dad had been out of town the week leading up to the 4th, and we weren’t sure he’d make it home in time. So I took Colton into town to pick out a few fireworks—enough to celebrate once with just the two of us and save some for when Daddy got back. Luckily, his dad made it home midway through the day.

Colton had been asking all day (and ASD parents, you’ll feel this in your soul) how much longer until fireworks. The excitement eventually drained him emotionally, and he fell asleep hours earlier than usual.

Now, I don’t know if all 9-year-old boys are like this, but once Colton is out—he's out. Like a powered-down machine. No amount of shaking or gentle nudging was bringing him back gracefully. When 9:30 p.m. rolled around, we finally got him up… and it was like waking a grizzly bear out of hibernation.

Three small fireworks in, and he was in tears. He refused to make s’mores at the new firepit. He wouldn’t join in the fun he’d been so excited about for days.

And if you’ve ever seen a child so dysregulated that they can’t participate in something you know they want to do—it’s heartbreaking.

Back to What Works

So, we returned to what’s always worked.

Dad grabbed the car keys, I grabbed Colton’s comfort items and a big popcorn bucket (in hopes of some movie theater magic), and we hit the road. Fifteen minutes later, he was calm again chomping on popcorn, watching the sky light up from a peaceful distance.

You Can Plan Ahead… But You Can’t Predict Everything

We’ve learned that even with a full sensory toolkit—noise-canceling headphones, fidgets, bouncing balls, trampolines—Colton still has moments when everything is just too much. We’re lucky that for him, dysregulation usually looks like frustration, tears, or needing space. But that doesn’t make it any less heavy for him—or us as parents watching him work through it.

We’ve had a lot of those moments lately. One of Colton's ASD traits is rigidity and resistance to change, and there has just been a lot of little changes to his schedule over summer break. Earlier this week in desperation to break the dysregulation loop he seemed to be stuck in, I ran to the store at 7 a.m. and bought him a pool for the back yard. Something to keep him cool, busy, and help regulate his body during the long holiday weekend. And guess what? That’s exactly where he spent most of his Fourth of July weekend—happy, calm, and splashing in the water. In fact, he fell asleep super early on July 5, too and didn't see any fireworks then, either. 

We've learnt to adjust our expectations on what things "should" look like. Fourth of July for us means no crowds. No massive firework shows. Just peace. Because in the end, that’s what matters most.