The Helmet

The origin and use of a helmet began with those who long ago went into battle knowing that a blow to the head would almost certainly portend their demise. So along with many iterations of body armor, the helmet became standard issue to warriors, a practice that has carried on to this day. In modern times helmets found their way into the non-combative elements of society as sports, recreational activities and hobbies began to produce devastating head injuries. In some cases helmets are now required by law and in others by the rules of a particular sport or activity. However, there is one very distinct helmet worn by a brave group of people who go to battle everyday not with other humans but with fire. The firefighters helmet I own is quite old, made of hardened leather, adorned with red and white accents, and has number 5 on the front. I have never worn it. In fact, only one man ever did. That man was my father.

A few years ago, while talking to a friend named Caroline, who is a former San Francisco Firefighter, I mentioned that my dad had been able to take his helmet with him when a heart attack had forced him to retire. Upon hearing this, she inquired as to the location of the helmet as she knew my father had long since passed away. When I told her that my stepmother had it she implored me to reclaim it. Subsequently, almost every time I ran into Caroline she would ask me about the retrieval of this most sacred of firefighters’ artifacts. Then one day I mentioned to my sister Nancy that I was going to try and get the helmet back from our stepmother and she just smiled. She then informed me that she had the helmet and that I was more than welcome to have it. When she gave the helmet to me, I felt a certain level satisfaction in having found it and looked forward to telling Caroline I had been able to claim it.

The acquiring of the helmet was started by the urgings of my friend and then became a quest for possession but in the end it morph into something I could never have imagined. When my sister gave it to me I casually took it home and brought it into my apartment. It was then, when I was alone with the helmet that it revealed its very strong and personal power. As I held it in my hands, alone and without the distractions of my present life all the memories of my father’s stories came rushing back. I stood there realizing that my father had stood tall under the protective leather while experiencing all the moments and subsequent lessons he later imparted to me.

My dad was a “Tillerman” at 5 Truck in San Francisco. It was the station that back in his day was given the title of “the busiest station in the universe” by most of the local firefighters. His comrades nicknamed my father “The Bear” because of his larger-than-life presence and the high level of physicality that he brought to the job. I never thought of my father as a “bear” but he was my hero and when he spoke to me I hung on every word. He told many stories but I found the ones concerning his life as a firefighter especially riveting. They were so fresh in his experience that his tales were extremely vivid and almost made me feel as if I were at his side battling the flames. It wasn’t long before I came to understand that my father’s stories were much more than recounting of his adventures; they were vehicles of teaching. He told me of times when he was almost overcome with fear during the dire situations. In this he explained to me that feeling fear is natural and that moments of courage are produced only in the presence of fear. He spoke of other firefighters which he respected and would follow. This illustrated for me the difference between leadership which is attached to a title and true leadership which enjoins others to follow. By heralding the deeds of the group of which he was only a part he infused in me the concept of true loyalty. He explained the fine line between taking pride in your work and being consumed and ultimately undone by the rigidity of being proud. He chronicled his mistakes as lessons of overcoming obstacles in the hopes of seeing me sidestep some of them. In all his stories he taught me to be determined to move forward and rise from my stumbles and falls.

I look at my father’s helmet every day before I start my daily regime. There are times when I run my hands over the hardened leather just to tactilely experience my relationship to it. In those seconds of emotional connection my father’s voice speaks to me. His stories and the lessons found within fill me with a sense of mental and physical empowerment. As the concepts of resolve, personal integrity and determination are given life within my consciousness I am reminded that it is well within my purview to be the best man I can be.

One day not so long ago I rose to begin my day. I walked over and stared at my father’s helmet to see what it had to say to my soul. On this particular day my precious helmet had a different message. As I stood there the helmet exposed to me the folly of the pride I had felt from finding and gaining its possession. I smiled and nodded my head in acknowledgement of the reality of our union. The truth is I did not find the helmet; it found me.