Today is the second anniversary of the terrible attacks of September 11, 2001. Everyone knows that. Everyone remembers it. Sadly, the wonderful spirit that rose from the ashes of that horror has passed from this realm, like so many other beautiful dreams. We are once again bitterly divided, and anyone who reads this blog, or any of those I link to, knows who I would say is at fault.
Today, however, I don't want to point fingers or get political or even re-evoke the sick hatred of that day. Instead, I want to remind everyone of the one pure, untarnished good to come out of that terrible morning, when fire erupted out a beautiful blue sky over the archetypal metropolis.
We learned to appreciate our firefighters.
One of the most terrible tragedies of that day was the unprecedented loss of life among those firefighters -- three hundred and forty-three in a single day. Every last one of them was charging into Hell to save lives, to fight a primordial destructive force, to make a difference. We were reminded as never before that they do that, take that risk, every single day.
To fight fires is to be the pinnacle of a noble tradition, an ideal of courage and heroism akin to the knight in shining armor. Historically, however, knights were armsmen who served the nobility with steel and blood; the Arthurian romances were fantasy as much for their portrayals of romantic knights as their magic. The heroic figure of the firefighter is very real.
Imagine that your job is to be ready, on any given day, to risk one of the most horrible deaths imaginable to save others from that fate. Your "armor" is an all-too-thin layer of rubber or latex. Your "lance" is a stream of water that can only douse one section of a dragon that can engulf buildings. The only other advantage you have is your brotherhood -- a powerful advantage, to be true, to have so many brave companions, but they are as mortal as you. Success means going back to the station to wait for the call again, with satisfaction and (perhaps) grateful smiles your only possible rewards. Failure means that homes are destroyed, lives shattered or lost, friends consumed.
That is the life of a firefighter.
Certainly, they are human like any other people. They laugh, cry, love, hate, play, mourn, and have all the foibles that it is humanity's gift and curse to have. They are not perfect, and I would never claim that they are. It would cheapen who they are and what they do. They are our shining knights, and it is only right and fitting that we do them honor, especially today.
So to all our "emergency responders," and to the modern dragon-slayers in particular, on this day we remember you and salute you.
In Honor Of New York's Fallen Protectors
(/) Roland X
(Warning: If you go to the tribute page, you will cry.)
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