My parents always shot fire works on the fourth of July.
Growing up in my house were boring days of watching my parents watch each other like two coke addled drug dealers trying to cheat each other at poker. Until one thought they had something on the other and all hell broke loose. My father would keep track of the mileage on the odometer of her car to see how far she got away from the house during the day. She called in favors from friends to lie for her, and I was expected to do the same. I don't ever remember having to lie for her. But I was coached each and every day on what to say if I was asked. And I would have done it. The alternative would be for WWIII to break out and after they fought, fucked and made up, my ass would have been in a sling with her for not lying. And with my father because she would have told my father I was lying even if I was telling the truth, and I would have ended up having both of them on my ass.
We always had a good time.
We still talk about it at family reunions
I wish I had bailed out when the bailing was good. Long before it got to critical mass. I remember thinking of running away. Just to send up a flare to remind them that there is a kid living in the house with them. It would have blown up in my face. Some how some way. There was no winning with those two.