It began with a loud KAPOW!

The explosion rang in my ears.

I looked up, and out the window. Everything looked normal. A lone brother traipsed through the back yard, and stooped to pick something off the ground.

I emerged from the guest bedroom in time to see my dad open the garage door. "BOYS!!!" he hollered.

Two grinning faces appeared in the doorway.

"Ehm, boys," said Papa, "No more bombs."

They began to talk over each other--that was so cool--we set it off in the front yard, and I found the cap on the other side of the driveway!--I bet we could've gotten hurt---if we can't make bombs, what will we do with the rest of the dry ice?--did you hear how loud it was--it sounded like a gunshot!--

They produced an old water bottle, split down one side, its cap, and what looked like it had been (in a former life) the label.

My brothers had gone ballistic. Literally.

I would be rather concerned, and would probably call them a psychologist... unfortunately, my dad was the one who told them how to do it.