Star gazing

I covered a house fire tonight.  It was inadvertently set by a three year-old little boy in a closet playing with a lighter.  He lived in the beautiful ranch style home with his grandma and grandpa and 18 month-old little brother.  No one got hurt, but they don’t have insurance.

This beautiful hunk of three year-old has wide, intelligent brown eyes, thick brown hair, and a vocabulary most adults would envy.  He was scared, but didn’t let it get to him.  The mischievous inquisitiveness that led him to play with fire was evident.  

He came to me from a neighbor’s hip, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.  I held him in my arms and tried to wrap my jacket around his bare feet as the temperature dropped with the sunset.  He told me about his socks and his many pairs of shoes.  We watched the firefighters try to save his house for a while.  He asked me questions and I answered them.  We talked about fire and firefighters and heroes.  He pointed out the wood pile between two trees in his front yard.  We looked at the stars together.

Eventually, I had to give him back.  

I wondered what his life would be like now.  If his family will forgive him, if he’ll always remember this, how it will affect him.  Before I gave him up, I asked him if he was going to be a fireman when he grew up.  He said, yes.  I thought that was cool.  Then he looked at me with those deep brown eyes and said, “No. I’m going to be a tree when I grow up.  That way I’ll be tall enough to grab a star from the sky.  I’m not scared of heights.”

I leaned into his ear and whispered, “I kind of am.”  And he hugged me goodbye.