Another reminder … heroes are everywhere

And we plan on telling every single one of their stories.

We were on our respective bluetooth devices — trying to plan dinner as I, in one car, drove back to work, and she, in the other, headed home after picking our two children up from school. 

Moments later, she interrupted me with an “Oh my God.” I heard a crash, a crunch, and then, my 7-year-old son screaming. 

“We just got into an accident,” my wife said, her voice trembling. “I have to call you back.”

But she didn’t hang up the phone. 

Over the next few seconds, I could hear, booming over my speakers, her asking my children if they were OK. They answered in sobs and more screams. And by the time my wife’s phone cut off, nothing was certain. 

I wasn’t sure exactly where they were, but I knew their typical route, so I took off toward Highway 111. I figured, based on when she left my son’s school, that I was roughly seven minutes out.

Those few moments were among the longest of my life. We humans have a knack for picturing the worst. Thinking about what I might discover when I arrived at the scene made my stomach turn. It makes it turn now.

As I approached the first responders blocking an intersection up ahead, it dawned on me that this particular stretch was familiar. It just so happened that the wreck had occurred right in front of the Patetown Volunteer Fire Department — an organization staffed, based on my recollection from my job, more than a decade ago, as a local reporter, with a mixture of Charles B. Aycock graduates, farm boys, and men, young and old, who serve because their daddy, granddaddy, or both, did the same.

I saw my wife, but where were the kids? She looked void of emotion … and it was jarring.

So, I jumped out of the car and ran toward her — asking where they were, if they were OK. And that’s when I saw something I know in my heart left me forever changed. 

My car was totaled — the casualty of somebody running a stop sign as my wife attempted to cross 111’s intersection with Daw Pate Road. But none of that mattered when I saw my little boy, who had, just minutes before, been screaming that he couldn’t breathe, standing in the grass. 

His eyes were swollen, but he was smiling as he showed off his bright red plastic “fire chief” hat — a gift from the boys at Patetown VFD. 

He was clutching a soft golden teddy bear that one of the EMTs put in his hands after they gave him a clean bill of health. 

He was sucking on the lollipop given to him by his school nurse — who just so happened to be at the fire department when the crash occurred. 

Even now, some six hours removed from it, the images bring tears to my eyes.

As parents, we have a tendency to look for the lesson learned from the many unavoidable adversities we will all meet throughout our lives. Then, we pass the morals of those stories to our children.

This afternoon could have been simply about how seatbelts save lives, about making sure your cars have functioning air bags, about ensuring you follow the rules of the road.

Frankly, we could have simply told our son and daughter that “accidents happen.”

But thanks to a group of Wayne County first responders — people who don’t do it for the money, but, instead, fill their hearts with the joy that comes with serving their neighbors — my wife and I have much more valuable takeaways to share with our little boy and teenage girl.

Sure, their offerings were simple: a plastic fire hat, a teddy bear, and a lollipop. But their value lay in their ability to remind our family what community is all about. 

In Wayne County, we pick each other up when we fall — just like those Charles B. Aycock baseball players did when their teammate lost his mother earlier this month. We spread love and compassion one gesture at a time — at events like Cures for the Colors and Relay for Life, when we put flags on the graves of veterans, swing hammers at a Habitat for Humanity build, or serve meals at the local soup kitchen.

In the future, our commentary section will strive to hold people accountable, to confront tough issues, and to spark conversation and debate that has seemingly been missing in this county as of late. But we will also use our platform to honor those who make our community a place every one of us should be proud to call home.

My family’s heroes — the men and women who turned a potentially scarring moment for my little boy into a special one — know who they are. And they certainly didn’t ask for thank-yous or pats on the back. The true heroes rarely do.

But that doesn’t mean we won’t celebrate their service and sacrifice on this page. The truth is, every man, woman and child in this county owes our first responders a debt we’ll never be able to repay.

Don’t believe me? Just ask my 7-year-old fire chief.