Every year, it seems, people bring more babies and toddlers. For much of the second half of the bill, Respighi was pianissimo and kiddies were fortissimo. At this distance, one is forgiving.
Vendors were selling glowsticks and glowing mohawk-headpieces. Some of them seemed to emit a screeching sound. At least they weren't vuvuzelas.
Daughter curled up on the picnic blanket and dozed under a pile of sweaters through The Pines of Rome. She awakened to remark that, now that she was 17, she was no longer a child, then settled back to sleep until the fireworks began.
I assured Daughter that no one should get too grown up, ever. As the last starbursts sunk into the night sky, everyone went "ooh" and "ahh" and applauded and cheered gleefully, as if none of us had ever seen fireworks before.