photo by: Submitted

Micah Bray

If you’re reading this, it’s fair to assume you have decent eyesight. Now, just for a moment, close your eyes and picture your favorite fireworks memory — the smells, the booms, the cheers.

Now, I’d like to share a personal story with you.

I was 9 years old on July 5, 1987, when my family and I went to a Royals game. I stuffed myself with hot dogs and one of those chocolate frozen malts that came with a flat wooden spoon. After the game, we drove back to our home in Tonganoxie.

My dad, my brother and his friend grabbed what was left of our fireworks, mostly bottle rockets. We lived on about 80 acres, and my dad had hammered metal pipes, bent at 90 degrees, into the ground to aim the rockets out toward the pasture.

Meanwhile, my sister and I were forced to stay inside, painfully watching as my brother and his friend had an absolute blast launching rockets into the clear summer sky.

I whined until Dad agreed to let me join them. Dad and I went to the basement to build my own launcher. We secured it into the ground, and Dad told me to stand right next to him.

I stood there, thrilled, as my brother’s friend knelt down and lit a rocket with the ember of his punk. The rocket screamed — whistling, and screeching, that coyote-like shriek that sends a jolt of excitement straight to your chest.

I watched, mesmerized and frozen.

It shot out about 10 feet, then turned — and rocketed straight at me.

Time slowed down. I remember watching it cut through the air, the blades of grass beneath its path visible, and then: BAM.

Here’s where I want you to close your eyes again, but this time, keep your right eye closed. Just open your left.

That’s how I’ve seen the world ever since that night. Sure, some blurry high-powered light sneaks through my damaged pupil and retina, reminding me that my right eye is still a part of me, but this is how I see the world.

The bottle rocket hit my right eye dead-on, bouncing off my eyeball before exploding. I don’t remember if I screamed in pain. I don’t think I did. I remember heat, the smell of spent gunpowder, panic, and turning to my dad to yell, “It hit my eye!”

Next thing I knew, I was standing in the kitchen with my head under the faucet while Mom tried to help. But I had to go to the ER.

My mom, sister and I piled into our family’s white station wagon, and Mom didn’t ease off the gas the whole way to Providence Medical Center. It felt like we waited forever once we got there. Eventually, a nurse brought me back to a room. More waiting. Then the pain came. I got sick. I vomited on the floor. But I didn’t cry; I didn’t want anyone thinking I was weak or scared. I didn’t want my mom to worry.

I still remember the nurse covering my left eye and asking if I could see anything. I remember thinking how ridiculous that was. Of course, I couldn’t — I had blood in my eye, and the damage was already done.

I spent that night in the hospital. It was cold, and I still hate the feel of cold vinyl (or linoleum) tile on my feet because of that night.

The next day, we learned that the damage couldn’t be undone. I was lucky to keep the eyeball itself, but much of what was inside was eventually removed. I’ve had multiple surgeries since, and I’ve dealt with light sensitivity and a lazy eye ever since. I couldn’t play baseball anymore, but I became a helluva basketball player and ran track like my life depended on it – even earning a college scholarship.

That night didn’t just change me; it changed my family. It was part of what led to my parents’ divorce — they will deny that! It caused grief for my friends and family, and for a long time, it felt like my accident affected them more than it affected me.

But it did affect me. And it still does.

Nearly 40 years later, I deal with it every single day. Every time I look in a mirror, I’m reminded. It’s hard sometimes — but it’s part of my story now. Like any scar, it’s a piece of a larger story waiting to be told, and I’m honestly grateful you took the time to read mine.

I hope my story helps prevent someone else from getting hurt. Enjoy your fireworks. Have fun.

But, please, wear eye protection.

— Micah Bray is the Public Information Officer for the Leavenworth County Attorney’s Office.