A Fireman's Hat

As we age, the detailed memories of our childhood fade. The details of a room become unclear. Colors leave the picture. Names are forgotten. Memories altogether drift off and are never remembered again. Some memories of our childhood, however, stick with us forever. Welcome to my first grade elementary class.....

We were sitting at a big, round table with red construction paper, scissors, and glue. My best friend, Bobby, sat across from me. We were the only ones at that far, back table. We were making fireman hats....and it was exciting. Step by step, the teacher explained how to put the pieces of the hat together. Cut a line here. Glue a piece there. We were working so hard and I couldn't wait to put it on.

As we finished one of the last pieces of the hat, tears began flooding down my round cheeks and my body broke out into a cold, nervous sweat.....I had just RIPPED my fireman's hat.

As a child, I was extremely shy. Teachers made me nervous. Men weren't allowed near me unless you were my dad or grandfather. I could hardly speak in front of others (quite a change from who I am today!). Talk to people I didn't know? Oh heck no. So what was my reaction to ripping my first grade class project? ......Utter fear and devastation.

Bobby noticed the tears streaming down my face. Every student in my first grade class had a fireman's hat that they were working on except me. I was so proud of mine, but it was ruined. The red construction paper wasn't strong enough. I could not tell the teacher. Absolutely not. I didn't want to get in trouble and I sure thought she would yell at me in front of the whole class. I knew one thing for sure..... I was going to get an F! I sat there with a trembling jaw as my classmates glued a few more pieces together. Right then, Bobby whispered something to me that inspired me to the core....

"Here. You can have mine."

From across the table, Bobby handed me his fireman's hat. Whaaat? Did he really just do that for me? Did the teacher see? The relief fell through me like a stack of bricks falling down a chimney.

The teacher passed by our table and asked Bobby why he wasn't working on his fireman's hat. He shrugged his shoulders and told her that his ripped. "I don't know how," he said. "It just happened."

Nobody knew Bobby gave me his fireman's hat that day.

Nearly 36 years later, I sit here and think about Bobby passing his hat across the table. That gesture was an act of genuine kindness and empathy. That gesture taught me to give unselfishly. As I sit here and think about that day in elementary school, I ask myself if I've given my time or my talents to help others. Dang straight I have. Thank you, Bobby.

How many fireman hats have you given in your lifetime?