Rhea’s Firework Pennant — Under the popcorn-sweet air of Liberty Yard, Rhea tightened the last paper star onto her hand-cranked pennant machine. Read the full story →
Under the popcorn-sweet air of Liberty Yard, Rhea tightened the last paper star onto her hand-cranked pennant machine. She had cut every stripe from scrap programs and painted the wooden handle blue until her fingers smelled like rain and paint. When the seventh inning song began, she spun the crank—whirr-whirr!—and her little flag flapped from the railing like it was ready to race the fireworks.
The crowd clapped below the booming sky, and Rhea fed in another red ribbon. A shadow swooped across her knees. Not a bird—a tiny kite, shaped like a baseball, tugged by a silver thread from the light tower. A kid in goggles leaned out beside it and called, “Want it to carry your stars?” Rhea laughed so hard she almost dropped the handle.
Together they clipped her paper stars to the kite tail. Up it zipped, weaving between gold bursts and blue sparks, pulling Rhea’s handmade salute over the waving flag and the diamond below. The pennant machine clicked proudly at her feet, still smelling of paint, still going whirr-whirr. Next time fireworks bloom over a ballpark, see if one bright star looks cut by hand.
