Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

I took some time off from the blog.  It was partially intentional, and partially not, though I suspect one lead to, or, perhaps fed into, the other.  Yet, all the while this blog was sitting idle people continued to find it courtesy of my good friends at Google.  Part of me hopes they found what they were looking for.  Then again, with some of the keywords that lead them here… part of me hopes they didn’t!

Search Term: marc scott on 60 minutes
Search Engine: Google Norway
Blog Post: Blog Home Page
My thoughts: I’ve done a lot of things in my career.  I’ve hosted TV shows, I’ve done live radio, syndicated radio and I’ve done quite a bit of voice work as well.  I don’t ever recall appearing on 60 minutes though.  I’ll be really ticked off if I missed out on that.  I think it would be pretty cool.

Search Term: spoon in the butt
Search Engine: Google US
Blog Post: Ode To A Wooden Spoon (View It)
My Thoughts: So this particular blog post was about being spanked with a wooden spoon.  But nowhere in it do I recall talking about having said spoon inserted into the butt.  That’s uncomfortable to even think about.  What’s of even greater concern to me is what in the world somebody could possibly be looking for – and why – by performing such a keyword search!

Search Term: donation “World Vision”
Search Engine: Google US
Blog Post: Me (View It)
My Thoughts: I always used to be one of those guys that thought nice thoughts.  Good intentioned, I suppose would be the best way to describe it.  But my good intentions only took me so far.  We need to be people of action.  I tossed around the idea of sponsoring a child for years.  In the end it always came back to “I can’t afford it.”  Then one day I took a step of faith, and since that day a little over a year ago, I’ve never looked back.  More than that, I’ve never once struggled to make my $30/month sponsorship pledge. James 2:14-25

Search Term: texting and driving accident pictures
Search Engine: Google Canada
Blog Post: Texting & Driving (View It)
My Thoughts: I shared a video on this particular blog.  It was a very graphic public service announcement from the UK.  Shortly after I posted it, I noticed it popping up all over the internet in true viral video fashion.  Each and every person, teenagers and adults alike, that owns a cellphone and a drivers license should watch this video.

Search Term: “joshua p warren” “money making kit”
Search Engine: Yahoo US
Blog Post: Thoughts On The Throne (View It)
My Thoughts: I have to tell you, when I first saw this keyword I was quite confused.  I had no idea who Joshua P Warren was, and I sure as heck didn’t know anything about his money making kit.  I clicked on the blog post this search lead to and was quickly reminded.  ”Put this by your toilet and make money being a psychic in two weeks!”  If that’s not enough to make you want to read this blog, I don’t know what is!

Search Term: parents find out about car accident posted on facebook
Search Engine: Google US
Blog Post: Thursday June 26 2003 (View It)
My Thoughts: This keyword search made me laugh.  Sounds to me like somebody has something to hide!  I wonder what they thought when they read the blog post their search lead them to?  This one was definitely one of my more emotionally charged and personal posts.

Search Term: firefigher save cat
Search Engine: Google Latvia
Blog Post: No Glove No Love (View It)
My Thoughts: Yes I am a firefighter.  Yes I’ve saved a cat.  No it was not in a true.  Yes this is a true story!

Search Term: socks (in various keyword forms)
Search Engine: Google (several countries)
Blog Post: One Of The Toughest Things About Being A Firefighter (View It)
My Thoughts: In the last month there has been no less than 2 dozen people that have found my blog by searching for different terms involving the word socks.  ”Putting on socks” “Pulling up socks” “socks” “wearing socks” and the list goes on.  Each one of those crazy searches lead to this post.  I can’t believe how many people Google the word socks!

And finally…

Search Term: grandma was a firefighter
Search Engine: Google US
Blog Post: A Fireman’s Prayer (View It)
My Thoughts: How in the world this search ever lead somebody to my blog is beyond me, but it did.  This post is actually one that I didn’t write.  I printed a prayer that was shared with me years ago.  I think it’s cool though that somebody’s Grandma was a firefighter.

I am white.  Stark raving white.  I don’t mean Caucasian, though I am that as well.  I’m talking complexion.  I share the same colouring as that of the Abominable Snowman or a shiny new white porcelain toilet sitting on the display rack a Home Depot.  It’s pure.  In the right light, it’s blinding.  It the wrong light, basically, my body is about as pale as that of a corpse.

I’ve always been this way.  I think it might have something to do with my refusal to wear shorts or go to the beach and take my shirt off.  Long pants, short sleeves… farmers tan.  This is as good as it gets for me.  I am mostly OK with this.  I mean really, who the heck needs to see my hairy white chicken legs?  And nobody should be subjected to the abdomen that once enjoyed the glory of firmness and now mourns a fate that has left it with more rolls than a bakery.  It’s just not necessary to do that to people.

I went to the church camp I attended in my youth this weekend.  A night out of town.  No TV.  No internet.  No 3am dumpster fire calls.  Just rolling hills (that actually bear striking resemblance to my gut), big fields of green grass, wide open, clear, star filled skies, and air that is fresh and unused – like you’re the only thing that’s ever come into contact with it.  It’s a beautiful place to retreat to.

The deal is a trade.  I enjoy a little solitude in nature, and in return, I assist the camp with some maintenance.  Translation… I get a place to sleep for the night and they get somebody to mow those big fields of green grass.  Truth is, it’s an excuse for me to drive a tractor.  As a child I would beg grandpa to let me drive the tractor.  I spent countless hours on his farm pleading with him.  One time he let me do it.  I cut a turn to short and took out the corner overhang of a roof on one of the sheds.  It’s OK for me to drive a tractor at the camp now.  In the mostly wide open spaces, there is little for me to hit and damage.  All I have to do is keep the tractor out of the pond and I’m good.

Saturday afternoon I was at the camp alone.  50 acres of God’s handy-work all to myself.  I jumped on the old blue Ford, which actually looks similar to the one I drove on my grandpa’s farm, and away I went.  Cutting the grass.  Out there in the sunshine, in my 50 acres of seclusion I got this idea in my head.  I thought to myself, if you were ever going to try and tan your pasty white self, what better time and place to do it than right here, right now!

When you’re surrounded by trees and hills, it’s like you’re on an island, even though your not.  I was sheltered from the passing highway, and I knew the airplanes overhead were out of viewing distance.  I believed I could take my shirt off and do no harm.  When the sun bounces off my whiteness, somebody could catch those reflections and, broken by my shadow as I moved, they could mistake it for some kind of morse code signal or something.  However, since I was safe inside the confines of nature, I decided to do it.  I took my shirt off!

I got back from the camp Sunday afternoon.  I don’t think I was home for more than half an hour when the pager went off.  Grass fire.  I got up off the couch and made my way to the hall. I jumped into my boots and bunker pants and pulled them up, suspenders looped over my shoulders.  Before I got my bunker coat on though, a brother firefighter commented on my new complexion.  Standing next to the bright red pumper, you would have thought I was a part of it had it not been for the brown of my hair and the white of my teeth.

I raised my arms very slowly to put my coat on.  I winced a little from the pain that was beginning to setting in.  Then, as if I had done it to myself entirely on purpose, I smiled and said, “I’m just trying to blend in.”

It’s not normal what we do.  Firefighting I mean.  Well, it’s not normal to most.  It’s normal to me.  Maybe not at first, but after a while it became normal, or, at least as normal as such a thing can be.  You train.  You experience.  You do.  Eventually, you don’t really think about certain parts of the job.  It’s easier not to think about them.  Your training becomes as natural as tying your shoelaces.  You don’t need to think about it.  You just do it.

When people find out I’m a firefighter that’s usually what they want to talk about.  They expect that I will tell them brave and heroic tales of all the lives I’ve saved, all the dangers I’ve survived, all the glory I bask in daily.  I wish I could tell stories like that.  It sure would make what I do easier some days.  I don’t have very many tales like those though.  Mostly, I just have stories of tragedy, pain and loss.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a firefighter because all little boys want to be firefighters.  Having my dad on the fire department made it seem only more inevitable that I would join.  I remember going to the fire hall with dad.  Riding in the trucks whenever I could was always a highlight.  I used to put on old bunker gear that he had at the house and run around it.  When you’re a kid, that is all there is to it really.  It’s about cool gear and big red fire trucks with flashing lights and sirens.

They don’t really tell you too much about what firefighting can do to you when you first join.  I mean, they asked me questions like “How will you react to blood?”, “Would you be able to go into a burning building?”, “Can you handle what you might see at a car wreck?”  I answered the questions as honestly as I could.  “I don’t know.”  Truth was, I didn’t.  Dad had been a firefighter my whole life.  So that gave me insight into things I’d see and do too.  But even that can only prepare you to a certain extent.

Something else they don’t tell you is that, contrary to popular belief, you don’t very often save people.  In 10 years, I don’t know that I’ve ever saved anybody.  I had no idea that on the majority of the calls I’d be fighting a battle that was lost before I even made it through the door.  There is no worse a feeling, that I can imagine anyway, than walking into a situation where people are looking to you to help, and you know that you’re too late.  Do that enough, and no matter how tough you are, it will wear on you.

I’ve watched a police officer tell parents their son is dead while I was still doing CPR on him in the distance.  As I counted off chest compressions, knowing my efforts were in vain, I did not feel heroic.  I’ve held a charged attack line on a house burning out of control, well aware that I can’t stop the fire fast enough.  The family members watched their memories go up in a ball of fire.  While the flames licked out the window at my helmet, I did not feel brave.  I’ve held the jaws of life in my hands, using them to cut out a someone whom life had left.  I couldn’t save that one.

Firefighters don’t talk much about the dark side of the job.  Nobody would really want to hear it anyway.  I’m sure it’s a defense mechanism, keeping the stories amongst ourselves.  I’m not sure who we are trying to protect more.  Is it ourselves, from becoming vulnerable, out of fear that we’ll lose the tough layer that permits us to do the job day in and day out?  Or is it our family and friends we are trying to protect, from the pain and suffering that we have become all to familiar with?

On my journey as a firefighter, I have plotted points on a map.  I cannot tell you the house number.  I may not even be able to tell you the street name.  As I drive past certain places, I remember.  Sights, smells, sounds.  Each mark on the map inside my head comes with memories I’d prefer to forget, but can’t.  There is the barn where the electrocution took place.  There is the house where I almost got caught in my first flashover.  There is the corner where the woman was ejected from her vehicle and, almost as if controlled by the flick of a switch, her life stopped.  There is the field where the Air Ambulance landed the first time I ever loaded somebody into it.  There is the garage that was the first structure fire I ever entered, and after seeing what was inside when the fire was out, I am thankful I exited with my life!

I don’t regret what I do.  Not for a minute.  I’m 10 years in, and if I can stretch it out another 30, I’d be grateful for every moment.  And not all the stories are bad.  In fact, as I was writing this very blog I got called away to a fire.  A couple, enjoying a quiet evening on the banks of the river.  Lines in the water, hoping to catch some fish, they had started a small little campfire to cook some hot dogs on.  A passerby saw it, and called 911.  Those are the funny stories.  Those are the stories that bring, if only for a moment, the balance back inside my head between the good and bad.  When the dark memories creep into my dreams, the funny stories are the ones I recall to try and push them back.  Those are the stories I tell people about when they ask what it’s like to be a firefighter.

I wasn’t hardly home for more than 10 minutes last night.  I got in the door, took off my shoes, changed my clothes, and had just started to cook supper.  I had a pork chop marinating all day and I was looking forward to eating a nice meal.  I should have known better!

I had just started working on the pork chop and was preparing the vegetables when my pager went off.  A corn field on fire.  Really?  The first thing I thought to myself was, who the heck even has a corn field in April?  The second thing I thought was, what the crap are they doing burning it on a Friday night?  Regardless… so much for my nice meal!

As we pulled up on the scene, sure enough, there was a corn field and it was most certainly on fire!  In fact, it was a pretty large corn field and, courtesy of a gusty evening breeze, it was burning pretty good.

There was no way we were going to get our trucks to it.  We also determined that if we all lined up (all guys) and simultaneously, well, use your imagination… that wasn’t going to work either.  So that left us to fight it the old fashioned way… with brooms.  We all grabbed our brooms and started trekking out into the field.

The fire was hot, and the smoke was thick.  A wind blowing from the northwest wasn’t helping.  It was fanning the flames, pushing the fire, and blowing the smoke.  It tasted awful!

We were working hard to try and contain the fire, but it was spreading on us fast because of the wind.  In a matter of just a few minutes, the fire line moved a good 20ft further south.  The fact that it was burning so hot didn’t help.  You could only stand the heat for a minute or two before you had to step out.

As I was standing there, soaked to the core from sweat, my eyes stinging from the smoke, I couldn’t help but reflect back on the some of the events that have taken place in my life in the last little while.  Certain areas of my life felt a lot like this fire.  Out of my control.

If it weren’t for the wind, we could’ve contained that fire and got it out a lot faster.  But it made me think about how sometimes things are just beyond our control.  Circumstances we have no say in.  Events we can do nothing about.  Sometimes, whether we like it or not, we really are just along for the ride.

Then Jesus got into the boat and started across the lake with his disciples. Suddenly, a fierce storm struck the lake, with waves breaking into the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him up, shouting, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”

Jesus responded, “Why are you afraid? You have so little faith!” Then he got up and rebuked the wind and waves, and suddenly there was a great calm.

The disciples were amazed. “Who is this man?” they asked. “Even the winds and waves obey him!” Matthew 8:23-27

Whether it’s a boat at sea being tossed by a storm, a corn field burning out of control because of the wind, or circumstances in our life that maybe didn’t play out quite like we thought, it all comes back to one simple thing.  We’ve got to have faith.

I love the movie Field Of Dreams.  It’s the perfect blend of drama, suspense, mystery, and baseball!  Ray Kinsella (played by Kevin Costner) finds his father in a corn field.  As I stood in that field last night, I found my Father too.  He reminded me that I just needed to have faith, and trust that He’s got things under control.

When I am called to duty, God,
wherever flames may rage.
Give me  strength to save some life
whatever be it’s age.
Help me to embrace a child
before it is too late,
or save an older person
from  the horror of that fate.
Enable me to be alert and hear the weakest shout
And quickly and efficiently to
put the fire out.
I want to fill my calling and
to give the best in me.
To guard my every neighbor and
protect his property.
And if according to my fate,
I am to lose my life,
Please bless with your protecting hand
my children and wife.

A. W. ‘Smokey’ Linn

The first time that I was nearly injured on a fire scene came not too long after I joined the Fire Department.  I’d like to tell you that it was a brave and heroic event filled with tales of great danger and a blazing inferno, sadly, I cannot.

In the midst of a thunderstorm we were called to respond to a transformer on fire on the edge of town.  It’s not an uncommon occurrence.  Lightning seems to like striking transformers, or so I’ve come to learn over the years.

At such a fire there really isn’t too much we can do.  After all, it doesn’t take a trained Firefighter to know that spraying charged power lines with a hose is not exactly the way to a healthy, prosperous and long life.  On the other hand, if you’re interested in discovering just what it would feel like to experience the electric chair, or live out your remaining days as a charcoal briquette, by all means… spray away!

On this particular scene I was on traffic control.  We blocked off a single lane of traffic with our trucks, and wanted to keep the area closest to the hydro pole secure, in the event the wires would let go or the lines would arc.  As I stood on the side of the road in my gear with reflective stripes and a large flashlight for extra visibility, I guided vehicles through the scene.

Everything was going rather smoothly until one individual, whom was more fascinated, I can only assume, with the flashing lights and fire trucks than they were with me and my traffic signals, decided to blow through the scene.  In order to prevent myself from being hit, I quite literally had to dive into the ditch.  To say I was annoyed, would be somewhat of an understatement.

Today I was in the Post Office in town and a group of people were gathered, because in a small town apparently this is where people hang out, discussing a recent blitz by the O.P.P.  For this particular blitz, they were parking their cruisers on the side of the road with their emergency lights activated.  In Ontario, the Highway Traffic act states, quite clearly I might add, that when you approach a scene with an emergency vehicle on the side of the road with it’s lights on, you are to move over one lane.  It’s all in the name of safety, and, it should be common sense!  If you fail to yield the lane, you can be fined.  I believe the fine is $490 and you can lose 3 demerit points.

On this blitz, the O.P.P. charged nearly 80 people for failing to yield the lane.  I don’t believe it an exaggeration to say that drivers failing to do so are putting lives at danger!  The group of people gathered at the Post Office, however, felt differently.  They were entirely disgusted with the O.P.P. and their “money grabbing tactics.”

As a Firefighter, and as one who has had to jump out of the way of a vehicle not paying attention driving through a scene, I commend the O.P.P. for running this blitz, charging that many people, and hopefully, driving home a point about safety!

When faced with an emergency vehicle, it’s quite simple.  Get out of the way!  If they are coming up behind you, pull over!  If they are coming towards you, pull over!  If they’re on the side of the road, give them a lane of space… pull over!  Help us do our job, and help us do it safely!  It could be you we’re helping one day!

He was a brute of a man.  He towered above any that stood next to him.  His broad shoulders looked as though they could, and maybe even had, carried the weight of the world.  His square jaw, and chiseled features were exactly what you’d expect to find on this “man’s man.”

To look upon him, was to stare at the reflection of intimidation.  To speak to him, was to understand the term “gentle giant.”  His frame was built, his voiced boomed, it was as if the ground would shake beneath him with each step.  Yet, larger than his strapping outward appearance was his heart.

Though his physical stature may have put him a head above the rest, in the fire hall, on the truck, at a scene, he was their equal.  Their brother.

It was a routine call.  A residential structure fire.  Nothing unlike the dozens they’d responded to in the past.  Fire was reported to have started in the garage.  Burning hot, and consuming all in it’s path, it was working it’s way through the home.  It was never a “house” to him.  A house is merely material.  A few boards, a little drywall, a roof and some paint.  A home, however, was something entirely different.  Filled with life, with memories, with the people we loved. 

His heart beat a little faster on these ones.  He was always focused.  He was always driven.  But his drive was always a notch or two higher when responding to a call of this nature.

On the scene, his crew made quick work of laying a supply line and running an initial attack line.  Two Firefighters stood at the ready as he used every ounce of his hulking strength to lift the garage door.

As the first attack crew worked their way into the structure, the next arriving crew began gathering information from all the bystanders drawn to the chaos unfolding on their quiet street.  Who lived here?  Were they home on this particular day?  How many of them?  All were questions that needed answers, and the answers needed to come quickly.

It was determined that two were possibly still in the house.  A girl, 12, maybe 13, and her little brother, likely 5 or 6.  Their mother had made a quick trip to the store.  She wasn’t to be gone for more than 15 minutes.  It shouldn’t be possible for your world to be turned on it’s head in just 15 minutes!

He grabbed the hose line from his attack crew, and told them to get in the house and find the kids.  He would continue to fight the fire, and provide protection to them while they did their search.

An eternity passed in 3 minutes.  As he continued to battle the blaze, waiting for a sign of his crew, he looked through the dense black smoke and was sure he saw the silhouette of a man coming towards him. 

A voice yelling down the hall confirmed his suspicion.  He did see a figure in the shadows.  Soon, another emerged.  His crew was coming and they were each carrying a child.  Fire chased them as they ran down the hallway.  The temperature was rising.  That’s never a good sign.

Flashover was all he could think to himself.  His crew was coming as fast as they could, but could they beat the flashover?  In moments, everything in the structure would ignite and the building would be engulfed in a ball of fire.  His crew would be unlikely to survive.  The children they carried most certainly would not.

The garage door was braced open, and freedom was on the other side.  Away from the flame, and out of the smoke, the crew would be safe, the children would be safe.  All they had to do was make it there.

The two brave Firefighters emerged from the doorway that joined the garage to the rest of the home, with the children held tightly in their arms.  He continued to pour water to the blaze, desperately trying to cool the space down.  It was unlikely at this point he could prevent the flashover, but he could certainly try and buy a little more time.

As the 5 of them were about to retreat from the garage an explosion rocked building. Bursts of flame filled the area and the bracing that held open there only exit, and there only chance at escape, began to shake loose.

Without hesitation, without so much as a second thought, he dropped the hose and threw himself at garage door.  It was large, solid, and more weight than even a man of his size could hold.  But so help him he was going to try!

Every muscle in his body quaked.  Sweat ran from his brow as if flowing from a river.  The weight of the door was causing his knees to collapse beneath him.  If only he could hold it open long enough to get his crew and the children out.  Just a few more seconds he thought to himself.

As the last body slid under the falling door, he finally lost his grip and might.  The door dropped like an iron curtain sealing off two worlds.  On one side, a world of life and light.  On the other side, a world of death and dark.

He was a hero.  He made the ultimate sacrifice.  He died, so that others may live.

It would be hard to hear such a story and not be moved.  Not be emotional.  Not be changed.  Could you do it?  Would you do it?  I hope you never find yourself faced with such an impossible decision to make.

Two thousand years ago, a man made a similar decision.  He chose to lay down his life to save us from the fire.  He died so that others may live. 

There is something I forgot to mention about this story though.  The courageous Firefighter, he doesn’t exist.  I made him up.  I made the story up in just a few minutes.  It’s entirely a work of fiction.  The second story though, it’s entirely true!  A story written in blood and lived in love.

So let me ask this question.  Why is it so easy to believe in the first story, a work of a creative imagination?  It’s the story we put on the front page of the paper.  It’s the story that leads the nightly news.  Yet, so many reject the second story.  A story of truth.  A work of a loving Father, allowing his Son to die so that others may live?  Why do so many refuse to believe the second story?

I pray you discover the truth this Easter.

One of the most common questions I’m asked when people find out I’m a Firefighter, besides “have you rescued a cat,” (refer to this blog No Glove… No Love!) is, “is there a pole in your fire station?”

The answer to that question, sadly, is no.  As much as I wish there was, and as much fun as it would be to slide down it each time a call comes in, that isn’t how it works in a volunteer station.  I carry a pager.  I could be anywhere, doing anything when the call comes in.  I’ve had to get up and leave in the middle of a haircut.  I’ve had to leave in the middle of church.  I’ve run out of family dinners, grocery shopping, and the shower.  Often, I get woke up in the middle of the night.  When you do this volunteer, you’re on call 24/7.

Today I was on the couch.  A relaxing Sunday afternoon.  I was planning on getting in a good power nap during the NASCAR Pre-Race Show and waking up just in time for the green flag.  My plan was right on track too.  I was sound asleep, not more than 5 minutes into a solid slumber when the pager went off.  As is my routine, I grab my pager, grab my wallet, grab my keys, and start running to the fire hall.  Thankfully, I don’t live far away  It would be pretty embarrassing to be winded from the run to the hall and not have enough energy left to get on the truck!

I’ve recently lost about 20lbs.  I’ve worked hard at it.  I didn’t necessarily need to lose a lot of weight as much as I needed to bring some of what I had under control.  Being a single guy, I have come to understand that the ladies aren’t necessarily attracted to large flaps of skin hanging over your belt.  That’s not to say that some don’t love it.  I’m sure they do.  It would just seem they are the minority!

With this in mind, and the hopes of getting myself into shape; a shape other than a pear, I started working out.  It’s really been working too.  In fact, I recently had to go out and buy all new jeans a size smaller.

Splash pants are the wardrobe of choice on lazy Sunday afternoons.  Comfy, loose, perfect.  Today I was wearing a pair I haven’t had on in a while.  For sleeping on the couch, they fit great.  For running to the fire hall, as I came to learn, perhaps not so much.

My wallet is heavy.  Not because it’s filled with cash mind you.  It’s just a big, bulky wallet.  It’s a guy thing I think.  All guys seem to have thick, ridiculous wallets.  With mine in my back pocket, and my newly shrunk waist, I made it almost to the end of the hallway in my apartment building before my pants were halfway to my ankles!

Moments like these are funny, if your perspective in life is to laugh at the stupid things.  Of course, the amount of humor involved is usually dictated by the size of the audience in view.  No audience… very funny.  Audience… very embarrassing!

I came through the door to the stairwell at a slowed pace.  My left hand, outstretched to open the door.  My right hand, reaching for the waist of my pants, holding on for dear life and reefing them back into position.  At the same moment as I came through the door, an elderly lady was stepping off the flight of stairs on the other side.

I assure you that I was not getting fresh with her.  Single or not… I have morals and standards that I daily try to uphold.  Dropping my drawers for senior citizens does not fall into either of those categories.  So my intention was never for this poor dear to see, and inform me, that my boxers were blue!  All I can say is I hope she enjoyed the show, and as a result, I hope she doesn’t sue!

I’m glad I lost my 20lbs.  But next time, I’m tying the drawstring!