OT: I can certainly identify with this...

On what I think was a sunny Victoria Day, 1968, ( I was 9.)

my dad and I bought a big paper bag of fireworks and proceeded to Broadview Park. Here's a pretty good shot of it from the top with some guy I don't know in the foreground:

The top, bottom, and intermediate slope of the park was sprinkled with revelers and their fireworks. We chose a flat area about 100 feet above the bottom of the slope (the top of an old landfill) and about 60 feet below the top, near the pool and ice rink at the north end, and put down our stuff. We set up our first Roman Candle for ignition. We lit the thing, and then backed away quickly as it started to shoot red flaming-hot coals high into a calm, blue summer sky.

As the first coal came straight down, we realized that we had left the entire bag of fireworks on the ground right next to the Roman Candle. The first coal narrowly missed the bag, and another was on its way. One soon landed directly on the bag, which promptly burst into flame. A few seconds later, all the fireworks in the bag, lying parallel to the ground halfway up the hill started to go off, firing all kinds of stuff onto the heads of the unsuspecting celebrants below. Realizing that there was nothing we could do about it, we skulked off as if we didn't notice the mayhem behind us, just seconds after having arrived at the park.

My last memory was the array of skin-colored dots in the valley below as they turned to look up, the parallel arms pointing up the hill, and then their scattering like grains sand in a gust of wind, only in slow motion. To the best of my recollection, my dad and I never spoke of the incident. Ever.