By ice rivers
Once upon a time, we were playing Bingo in a Fire Hall. Suddenly, an amazing fire burst out across the street. I had never seen anything so powerful and scary. Everybody started running away from the Bingo parlor and the house across the street.
Everybody except my father that is.
He ran toward the fire and before anybody could realize what happened, he was across the street and into that inferno. He pulled a kid out of that blaze before the volunteers of the Fire Hall had even heard the siren.
My father was a firefighter by profession as was my uncle, my mother’s brother. My mother’s sister’s husband was a cop as was the son of my mother’s brother who drove a fire engine.
By instinct and training they ran toward the fire.
My uncle was a cop who walked a beat in the most dangerous parts of town where he was known, respected and even loved. Everybody called him Big George.
I understand the principal at the New Town school ran towards the gunmen rather than away.
Instinct and training, along with courage and humanity.
Teachers are becoming the firefighters of 9/11 as schools become more and more vulnerable
None of them or us are heroes other than working class heroes as Lennon captured the idea.
We’re just effing peasants doing our jobs.
Firefighters absorb more injuries each year than police officers.
Nobody gets more criticism than cops.
No profession is assaulted more than teachers.
All of them stand on the thin line between good and evil.
None of them/us are making serious money compared to the kings and queens of the universe whom we teach and protect with our lives.
It’s not about the money. It’s not about being heroic.
It’s about running towards the fire rather than away from it.
Walking towards the need instead of ignoring it.
Standing in front of the children rather than behind them.
Uncommon common people dedicated to and convinced of the common good.