After the Fire  

By Coleen Armstrong

A year and a half later, though, Chad, now a senior, was reevaluating. College was on hold indefinitely; getting through high school would be tough enough. He was finding the quadruple roles of husband and father, student and employee quite a juggling act. Barely passing in school, he was also on the verge of being fired at work. He and Mindy were arguing too, mostly about his not spending enough time with her and the baby.
 
And about money. Chad was appalled at how much disposable diapers cost. To complicate things further, he and Mindy were still living with Chad’s parents, who weren’t charging them a nickel for room and board. Chad tried not to think about that; there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway.

Nothing, he’d learned, was ever as easy as it looked.
 
Still. They had the most beautiful little girl in the whole world. Brooke. Chad hadn’t expected to feel such fierce love. He hadn't known how his daughter’s smile would tug at his heart. He had to make a good life––for her. And he would. Eventually, he’d prove himself. Despite his father’s long silences and tightlipped stares, he was certain of it.
 
Until the fire.
 
It started in the middle of the night, as many fires do. A log had dislodged from inside the fireplace, then had fallen onto the carpet, where it began to smolder. For some reason the smoke alarm wasn't working. By the time Chad’s younger brother awoke, the air was black.
 
Chad’s brother screamed for everyone to get out of the house. Chad leaped up, calling to Mindy, grabbed an armload of baby clothes and ran. When he got outside, he stood on the front lawn, shivering in his underwear, searching over his shoulders for his wife and daughter. They weren't there.
 
Chad’s father suddenly appeared at his side, shouting questions. A moment later, he darted back into the house, while Chad danced back and forth, watching smoke billow out of doors and windows, his eyes streaming tears.
 
After what seemed like hours, Chad’s father finally emerged, pulling Mindy by the hand and carrying Brooke.
 
The following Tuesday, Chad was back in school, and the class bombarded him with concerned questions. How had the fire started? Why wasn’t the alarm working? Was everybody all right?
 
Chad answered each one patiently, but without elaborating. After several minutes, he seemed eager to drop the subject.
 
But as soon as I began to talk about an upcoming semester exam, a howl rose in Chad’s throat, and he covered his face with his hands. I led him into the hallway, where he slumped to the floor and buried his head in his arms.
 
“I let them down,” he sobbed. “I just assumed Mindy would get out okay. How was I to know she’d panic and decide not to run through the smoke with the baby?”
 
It was his father, Chad said, who’d dashed back inside the burning house. His father who’d rescued his family. His father who’d fed them, housed them. Who always seemed to be bailing Chad out, one way or another.
 
Seeing the man collapsed on the lawn, scorched and exhausted, Chad felt a thousand puzzle pieces drop into place. The person he’d seen as carping and irrational was, in reality, strong, intelligent, compassionate and courageous––all things Chad knew he still wasn’t.
 
“My dad,” he whispered, “is ten times the man I’ll ever be.”
 
Well, I thought, perhaps not. Maybe Chad now understood that becoming an adult meant far more than graduation, employment, marriage or even having a child. It meant recognizing someone else’s goodness and wisdom. Even if, especially if that person had more than you did.
 
Even if, especially if that person happened to be your own father.

Coleen Armstrong’s distinguished teaching career includes several state and national recognition awards.  She is the author of Please Don’t Call My Mother:  How Schools and Parents can Work Together to Get Kids Back on Track and The Truth about Teaching:  What I Wish the Veterans had Told Me.