The Playpen

My daughter isn’t fully potty trained. She is a daredevil to a fault and will jump off a piece of furniture three times her height without thinking. She’ll walk right up to a rabid dog and try to pet it and wields a pair of scissors like a Spartan, but we got one thing right. She is deathly afraid of fire. I’m not sure how we did it, but she won’t come near the stove, won’t touch matches or fireworks with a 50-foot pole, and god help me if I try to light a stick of sandalwood incense. She fears it from the bottom of her soul, and I’m OK with that. As a result of this phobia, when there is fire present she babbles on and on about it nervously, asking questions over and over, hinting at her concern that it may somehow impact her own life in some way; basically feeling me out to make sure that everything is OK and that the fire is not a threat to her.

Every year, wildfires burn out of control here in Southern California and those of us who are fortunate enough not to be affected by them go on about our business with nary a concern. It’s a similar relationship that Midwesterners have with tornadoes and that I assume Floridans have with hurricanes. As long as it’s not tearing through my house, it’s chalked up to a simple fact of life.

As we all drove down the Golden State Freeway yesterday on our way to get free ice cream, Frankie noticed the billowing smoke and orange tongues of flame from a portion of the Station Fire, high up on the mountains just east of the freeway. The Station Fire is particularly bad. It has burned over 85,000 acres and, as of this entry, is only five percent contained. Our weather has created ideal conditions in which fire can thrive lately; triple-digit heat with very low humidity, and when I stand outside in the morning when the breeze is blowing west I compare the scene to the apocalypse. Smoky, orange skies with clouds of brownish smoke whisping by cast a spooky amber light on the city, even in the morning hours. Tiny pieces of white ash fall soundlessly down and accumulate on cars and shoulders like snow. The air tastes foul and at times it’s difficult to breathe. In point, there is no way to shield my daughter from the fact that something is wrong, so I simply addressed her questions as best I could with basic answers that one would usually give a four-year-old and moved on. Before long, we had passed it, had our noses deep in Strawberry Swirl and had moved on with our lives. We were content.

This morning I woke up and, as I sat outside with my coffee, was once again reminded by the coloring and odor of the air of the Station Fire. This time, however, it was Monday morning and my daughter was still in bed. My mind abandoned the fleeting thought and moved on to its own concerns; money, bills, job, kids’ school…typical Monday faire. I found myself forlorn at the thought of returning to work already, stressed out about the economy, annoyed that the Rams were going to have another bad season and generally pissed off at the world.

“I need a day off, dammit,” I said to myself with a scowl. “I’ve been working too hard. Don’t I at least deserve some time for myself? This economy just isn’t fair.” I got up and drove to work wearing a glowering mask of self-pity.

When I arrived, the first thing I did was check the news. There it was again. The Station Fire. I quickly scanned the article and was about to close the window when my eyes landed on one particular phrase.

The fire claimed the lives of Capt. Tedmund Hall, 47, and Spc. Arnaldo Quinones, 35, on Sunday, according to the Los Angeles County Fire Department. The two firefighters were killed while fighting the Station Fire when their vehicle went down a steep, 700-foot embankment Sunday afternoon.

I froze on that paragraph for a moment and my mind took over, immediately playing out a vivid scene for me in which two fire fighters, amidst towering flames, wearing heavy coats, pants, boots and helmets, dehydrated and exhausted from lugging huge amounts of gear through scorching heat went over the side of a mountain in a fire truck while working harder than I ever have in my whole life just to keep me, my family and others like me safe. Not for status, not for power or corporate ladder-climbing and, although I didn’t know them, I’d be willing to bet that it wasn’t for money either. It was so that my family and I could have ice cream, then go back home and sleep soundly in our home knowing we would be fine.

I then gazed at a photo I took yesterday of my son, now three-months-old, who has just started to do this

to me, thus closing the Baby Gap forever, and came to the understanding that while I was sitting there with my coffee this morning complaining about how bad I had it there were families of two heroic people out there who were sitting together in tears, the very first realization of a countless number of lasts just beginning to flit through their minds as their sorrow took hold and changed their lives forever.

I mourned for those firefighters, their families and so many others like them. And I created a new goal for myself right at that instant, or at least renewed my interest in adhering to an old one. It doesn’t involve money or cars or tuitions or vacations; it’s so much simpler and I am embarrassed for forgetting it.

I’m going to have a terrific Monday. I’m going to have a terrific life. Because, at the end of the day, if I can go home and wrap my arms around my wife and kids, laugh with them and wake up another day to do it again I truly do have it all, and to not love each and every minute of that would be not only inappropriate and disrespectful to those men and their families, but ungracious as well. And I am most certainly, humbly, grateful.

-Matt

1. Kori Says:
   August 31st, 2009 at 4:52 pm

   For once, I am very nearly speechless. Thank you for the very clear reminder how lucky and blessed we truly, truly are.
   Kori´s last blog ..A Good Day

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   Matt Reply:
   September 1st, 2009 at 9:33 am

   @Kori, Welcome. The trick is remembering it all the time, at least for me.

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2. Barbara Says:
   August 31st, 2009 at 8:10 pm

   Thanks for the photo of Dom.

   Thanks for good and meaningful words.
   Barbara´s last blog ..Bells and Whistles

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   Matt Reply:
   September 1st, 2009 at 9:34 am

   @Barbara, I figured it was about time to get a good one up here.

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3. Cat Says:
   September 2nd, 2009 at 2:14 pm

   An absolutely lovely post. Sometimes we just need to be reminded. Adorable pic of your son, too.
   Cat´s last blog ..Single Mom Books

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