Everyone wants to be a hero

Today is a more normal March day in Seattle. The sky is cloudy, wind
is blowing and there's a cold drizzle depositing much needed moisture
to our Northwest soil. But, it the whole feel of the day that reminds
me of a time when I was witness to a baby's death in Wallace, Idaho.

I'm not sure how old I was probably sixth grade because I was old
enough to help my dad work on a house that he had purchased in Wallace
and he were repairing the house. I was his helper on the steep roof
which did not allow for a good footing, so my dad tied a rope around my
waist and the other end around the chimney. It was kind of fun because
I could bound around the roof with my umbilical cord and help my father
lay the tar paper and then attach the long rolls of roofing tiles.

It was around noon when I noticed a young blond woman walking down the
street toward me in her bathrobe mumbling something and grabbing at her
hair and crying. She said something to me, but I could
not understand her, so I told her to go around the front and talk to my
dad.

A minute later, my father yelled at me and said, "Didn't you hear what
she said? She said her baby can't breathe. Let's go!" In an instant
I watched in amazement as my father leaped from the roof and did a
perfect platform landing fall rolling onto the road and then run to the
house where the woman was pointing. I immediately untied myself slid
down the rope to the road and ran after him.

As I reached the screen door I saw my father administering CPR to a
lifeless infant. I called after him and he said to call for help
because the woman had no telephone. This was common in our small town.
So, I ran off knocking on several doors before I found someone who had
a phone, but the elderly neighbor could not understand what I was
asking and he wanted to know all kinds of questions. Finally, I
screamed at him to call for the police because a baby was dying. That
got his attention. After the call was made I ran back to the house to
find my father still doing CPR while the mother watched and cried.

The sound of a police car roaring up the road alerted us that it was
time to move the baby outside. I could see the anguished look on my
father's face as he got into the police car with the deputy and off
they went with the mother to the hospital. As I stood there watching
them drive away, I knew that it was too late.
That I had failed to bring help in time to save the baby. And I cried
all the way back to the house.

About an hour later my father returned to find me upset about the whole
experience blaming myself, but he said that it wasn't my fault. He
told me that he had found the baby with a blanket corner in it's mouth
and he had choked on it. He had revived the baby once, but he had been
without oxygen too long to live. He said the woman was in shock when
she had asked us for help and that was why she could not do anything.
He said we had done all that we could do, but sometimes it was their
time to go.

We put our tools away and decided it was time to leave and my dad took
me to Sweet's Cafe, the local diner where all the police got their
coffee and ate pie. When we walked in the waitress with the really long
fingernails, beehive hairdo and pink uniform greeted us and showed us
to our table. She said she had heard about what had happened and said
that it was a shame. We nodded in agreement and ordered some lunch and
later ate some apple pie before leaving.

I'm not sure if this event lead me to my experiences in Search and
Rescue and later Combat Lifesaving classes in the Army or not, but I do
know that I've always had a deep sense of wanting to help people.

Actually, I think the answer can be found in the fact that when I saw
my father jump off the roof of a house risking injury to himself to
save another person, he was a hero. And like lots of kids, I wanted to be just like me dad at that moment.