The joke at Groovy Grandpa and MiMa Cat’s annual fireworks party in their 27th floor Brooklyn Heights apartment is that they arrange the fireworks just for us to enjoy.

It’s our very own private fireworks show.

They have the most incredible from their living room and bedroom. Windows face the river and the Manhattan skyline in one direction and Coney Island in the other.

In the half hour or so before the Macy’s fireworks began we ask, "When are you going to pull the switch, dad? When do the fireworks begin?"

The Macy’s barge is parked in the harbor right in front of his windows. The fireworks literally fill those windows with color and light. Last night was better than ever.

Two-and-half-year-old Ducky sat on a stool near the window.

"Fireworks. Fireworks. They’re PRETTY!"  she exclaimed over and over.

OSFO kept telling Ducky to try and catch one. "Reach out, reach out," she’d say. Ducky and OSFO pretended to eat them.

YUM.

Teen Spirit told Ducky that Grandpa had told them to spell her name. "See," he told her. "Those are the letters of your name."

Ducky was enchanted.

Hepcat took pictures. All of us drank cold white wine. We complimented my father constatnly. The fireworks are GREAT. There were some new effects we noticed: a tall white waterfall.

"That’s NEW. Love the new ones, Dad," my sister exclaimed.

After the show, my father accepted the compliments like it really was his show. That’s part of the joke.

"Just a little fireworks for the party," he said. "Hope you liked it."