When I was about five, my great Uncle Jim took me to the firehouse near where we lived. I was not only introduced to all the firemen and their beautiful trucks and equipment, but one of them took me up to where they slept and then slid down the brass pole with me to show me how quick they could be in the fire engine when their was a night alarm. It made a tremendous impression on me, especially because I was the only one who could tell all this to my playmates who had never even met a fireman. Now that I write this I wonder if that memorable visit to the firehouse was not a way of putting any fear out of my mind because we had had a fire in the apartment next to us just a few months before; our maid had grabbed me while my mother took my infant sister to get out. Fortunately, I think we mostly suffered smoke damage but quickly moved to a home across from the Visitation where I was in kindergarten.
I did not intend to write any of this, but only to ask prayers for all the firefighters. I think to be a fireman is a real vocation. In Chile, at least when I was there, it was mostly a group of volunteers who would respond to a fire. Here we have real stations with firemen on duty at all times. Let us thank for the gift of generosity showed by so many who have been coming to California to aid in trying to control the huge fires. Actually, we have many prisoners out there fighting the fires now for $1 an hour.
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