I am roundly criticized for not yelling and generally being a wet blanket for exciting fun stuff. My outward form is quiet and thoughtful. It’s my form of the typical command presence. Inside however I am a maze of flashing lights and dichotomy. That’s the part I want to share, the other half.
Here’s the way my internal “dad psyche” works. I live at threat level “blue” for guarded, as in the Homeland Security Advisory System. The sound of our tone for an MVA with injuries interrupts my rumination about the proper way to … As I listen to the address a second time my mind wanders, it’s after school, two kids still on the bus, wife still at work, my high school senior asked for the car this morning. Threat level up to “yellow” for elevated.
We gear up and respond. We are slowed in our response by the usual driving cadre of idiot savant incompetents that perceive my intrusion in their path as a direct challenge to their sovereign right of existence. One day I must certainly go to visit this place of nirvana that allows one the ability to block out anything other than their cell phone, radio, baby daddy, IPod et al. Seemingly the small decibel level change involved in the simultaneous use of a Federal Q, electronic siren, air horn, and officer cursing all coming from a 34 foot red and white diesel monster we’ve affectionately dubbed “The Queen Mary” does not affect their path in the least. The threat level moves up to “orange” for high.
We are now closing in on the scene. The Assistant Chief is confirming one vehicle with ejection and entrapment. The ETA for the medical helicopter is requested. ALS locates their truck near the vehicle and as we set our parking brake we watch a superhuman effort to lift the front of the vehicle. Drawn like moths to a flame the engine company is sucked into the melee and is responsible for the immediate opportunity for ALS to access the patient. The threat level has reached the highest measurable level “red” for severe.
I can’t see the vehicle but I am drawn to the immediate life saving work being completed near me. I clomp over like a Clydesdale in bunker boots and recognize the washed out jeans and t-shirt. I am momentarily off the chart for threat and my heart stops as I scan the rest of the broken body to the head and see a young person that I do not know. My heart begins to beat again and I think it is not my time. I ask for the board and stretcher. No one even suspects that I am stepping back from the edge. It’s just another call. Another handful of things to check for safety as the fight for life continues. Mount up we are going to secure the landing zone for the helicopter.
As the Grim Reaper increases his hold on this young person I quick text my daughter our shared comic phrase and I get a “HA HA” back. It’s more than one other dad will ever see or hear again. I feel slightly self conscious and ashamed that my internal threat level is coming down as we pick up. I know for one other family the pain and anguish is preparing to reach a crescendo much louder than that of my rescue’s sirens and horns.
As we return the talk quickly changes to the upcoming festival and the food we will prepare. The banter insulating us from intrusive thought about our own mortality and that of our collective families. In quarters and back to a physical and mental location that is equilibrium. I am almost back at level “blue.” I am ready to return home to my family. By the time I get there I know that the texting grapevine will be in full swing and name and the first items of supposed facts about the accident will be virtual common knowledge and the threat level will change.