Real Life, Real Values

The best thing my parents and family ever did was show what it was to be a family. Immediate and extended, we did everything together, making regular trips across town to see my mothers' parents, my father's mother, or our aunts, uncles and cousins. Some of my best memories growing up involved being around family, lots of them, 12-15 people at either our house or my grandparents or aunt and uncles.

My father, a retired Navy man, believed in integrity, honesty, a good handshake, and God. He was an usher in our church and helped build sections of the new addition and its gazebo where people would often pose for pictures or couples would get married. He always stopped to help others no matter where he was, the delay put to his own day, or the weather. He did it because it needed to be done. One time on the way to drop me at school, there was a fire in a canyon. We stopped, dad got out and started directing traffic away from the scene and the hoses laying across the street. I was really late for school but the principal applauded my dad's initiative.

Then again, my principal. Mr. Black, was used to my dad helping out around school for newspaper drives, taking pictures for monthly citizenship/attendance awards, Cub Scouts, and other 'parental' tasks.

Ironically, about 4 years later - in high school, I would perform a similar task: the southern California area had been pulverized by fires with monetary and body counts climbing and everyone dreading to see smoke anywhere. I was walking by a hotel in the valley when I saw smoke coming from the hillside. Fifty feet below it were hotels and businesses, 150 feet above it was a tight knit residential neighborhood. I ran to the back of the hotel to see an area 25 x 30 feet burning freely. I looked for a water hose and saw a spicket, but no hoses. I looked around more and saw five-gallon buckets, rakes and shovels in a pickup for a local landscaping company. A few people had arrived next to me asking if the fire department was called and what should we do. I told them all to grab tools from the truck, start filling buckets, and help put the fire out; they all jumped to it. One woman from a second floor window asked if she should call the fire department, I said yes and told her to tell them we needed a 1st alarm brush assignment. She asked what it was and I assured her the dispatcher would know.

It was the mid 80's and the fashion exemplified the TV show "Miami Vice". I was wearing gray slacks and a white-gray button-up shirt in the style and there I was stomping, raking, and kicking out that fire. The sounds and sights of fire trucks and crews at the top and bottom of the hill brought instant relief. I heard people talking behind me and as I turned around to look I was met by a man with a microphone recording an interview for the local public broadcasting station. He asked about the fire and how all the people and tools were involved. I was explaining everything when he changed the topic to my "Miami Vice" wannabe clothes. He said how nice they were and asked why I would try fighting a fire in such nice clothes. I told him my clothes and shoes were replaceable for around fifty bucks but the hotels at the bottom and homes at the top of the hill where people have their homes, families, and belongings were priceless. He asked where I went to school and a few other details and ended the interview. In the next two weeks, six envelopes arrived at my school. People sent money or gift certificates for the "Mission Valley fireman" to help replace my clothes. An amazing response.