Heroes risk it all despite the dangers

This Halloween, Gege wants to be a firefighter. “I’ll squirt whipped cream into your mouth, and into the fire, to put it out,” he said.

Every time the local firehouse opens to the public, he and Didi climb into the trucks, study the equipment and proudly wear the gold shield stickers on their chests. When they had a chance to shoot jets of water from an extinguisher — aim low at the fire, and sweep from side to side — they were enthralled.

“Firefighters help people,” Gege said. The heroism, the uniform and the gadgets — it’s no wonder being a firefighter is a popular childhood ambition. Who wouldn’t want to slide down the pole and into a fire engine below?

Weeks ago, we searched thrift stores for an outfit, but then I gave in and paid full price for the outfit: a tan jacket and pants with reflective tape, accessorized with a plastic fire extinguisher, a fake walkie-talkie, and two sturdy helmets — one black and silver, and the other red. He could get more wear out of the costume, I convinced myself, if I bought it at the beginning of October, and let him start dressing up.

Last Sunday, the high winds woke me up in the middle of the night, rattling the windows and scattering redwood needles on the roof. I groggily looked online, wondering how fast the gusts were blowing, and discovered that the North Bay had gone up in flames — in what would become one of California’s worst fire disasters. Moments later, I caught a whiff of the smoke, the charred scent that haunted dreams throughout the region.

For many, Napa, Sonoma, Mendocino and points beyond are beloved places to visit — where we got engaged or married, went on a retreat or whiled away the afternoon with a bottle of wine. For many, they’re also beloved communities to live and work in. The fire didn’t discriminate, claiming victims of all ages and backgrounds, and incinerating mansions and mobile homes alike. The photos and video footage of the inferno are apocalyptic — a word that’s been used often in recent months as some fresh new hell visits this country, with hurricane upon hurricane, and the Las Vegas massacre.

Entire neighborhoods have been gutted, families and communities torn apart as the fire continues to grow. The losses sift over us, sinister black ash raining onto our back decks, and smudging the air. We reach out to friends, checking if they’re safe, and if they need our help. I ache for everyone faced with split-second, heart-wrenching decisions: How did they decide what to take, in a few minutes or less? It must have been terrifying to hear pounding at the door, and the warning they had to get out — now.

Gege’s firefighter costume has taken on a deeper meaning. I’ve been thinking about the thousands of firefighters and their courage in this latest catastrophe, running toward the dangers that the rest of us flee. They beat back flames, and move in to rescue and to recover, inspiring us to help in the ways that we can: donating to food banks serving fire victims, contributing to fundraisers for first responders who lost everything in the blaze, opening our homes or volunteering at evacuation centers.

This week, I’ve also been heartened by the brave women coming forward to report how Hollywood mogul Harvey Weinstein allegedly sexually harassed them. As reported in the New York Times and the New Yorker, their stories are horrifying and disturbing, yet sadly familiar, too. In academia, in business, in politics — in every realm where men hold sway over women — victims stay silent, feeling guilty and stupid, and fearing they’ll ruin their careers and their reputations, even as they surreptitiously try to warn other women to stay away. I’ve had countless conversations when I was young, countless conversations now that I’m older about sexual predators. All the while, those who harass remain in power. The complicit include those who turn a blind eye, write it off as a private matter, or joke about it.

Weinstein allegedly abused women for decades before victims joined forces — and institutions finally backed them — to topple him. By pulling together, the courageous can take on what seems impossible.

Though the country is deeply divided, these struggles bring us together. Neighbors help neighbors, in Houston, in Puerto Rico, in Las Vegas and in the Bay Area. Strangers lend a hand to strangers, despite differences of religion, gender, race and class.

I want to think that’s who we truly are as Americans — or at least, who we can aspire to be.

Strangershand to strangers,lend a despite differences of religion, gender, race and class. I want to think that’s who we truly are as Americans.