That Time My House Burned Down on Christmas Week

Well... It wasn’t really a house. It was more of a ramshackled, decrepit old mobile home that dreamt sweet dreams of being an actual house back in the 70’s. But it was Christmas week. And boy howdy was it ever. It was 2008, I had just turned 18 a few months prior, and we were having the largest snow storm our county had experienced in nearly a decade. Likely this already sounds rather hyperbolic. Sure. Yeah. I guess. But that’s life sometimes. And I’d say my life tends to lean in the direction of the hyperbole more often than not.

There were always close calls with fire growing up, as one might expect with numerous hellions in the house. Kerosene lamp breakages, stray electrical sparks from a fork being stabbed in a surge protector and the like. You know. The standard fare. This morning, however, was a tad different.

I was jolted awake by the sudden audible piercing of my youngest brother John, screaming. Instantly, my other younger brother Joshua and myself bound to his room to see what was wrong. To our horror, though not to our surprise, one of his toys was aflame.

For a brief background, John is on the Autism spectrum, is very non communicative, and at the time had both a subscription to the power puff girls fan club and a fascination with matches. We as a family had thought we had done an adequate job of hiding the matches.

Clearly, we were mistaken.

It all went so quickly. I remember snatching John away while we tried to find something to smother the still small flames. Try as we might, the fire only grew larger.

“Quick! Grab something! We need water! Something!” I called to Joshua.

He ran off as I snatched John from the growing flames. Within the time it took me to turn my head, Josh had returned with a glass of water and threw it on the now engulfing fire. Obviously, the blaze guffawed the attempt. Everything surrounding us caught, and soon the room was totally ablaze. By this point we had awoken our father, and soon the rest of the home was surrounded in the inferno.

We had no time to grab any possessions. None of us had anything but our sleeping clothes on; I myself nothing but a tee shirt, my underwear, and a literal pair of short shorts. There was hardly time for us to escape as the walls erupted and the roof began to collapse. But we did. All of us and the dogs.

There was no time to sit idle, however. As soon as we were out in the biting chill of the thick snow, we were reminded of the generator flush against the house on the front porch. Fully fueled, and ready for the licking flames.

So the three of us-- my father, Joshua, and myself-- slipped and slid barefoot with flames tickling at our backs to move the fully gassed contraption safely away. It was a combination effort of digging a path and doing what we could to use all of our strength and adrenaline to move the thing through the snow.

When it was finally a safe distance, we all stopped and turned back to see the chaos that had been birthed before us. As overstated as the saying is, it is so true in instances like these: time just seemed to stop. The snow fell about as we helplessly looked on. Our home and everything we had was being swallowed alive by dragon’s tongue.

Joshua fell to his knees, simply shouting “NO!” at the top of his capability.

His voice carried and died in the woodland trees, deafened by the blanket of snow as if to try to stifle his cry completely. We heard, and we cried together.

Time quickly resumed with the quick mid timbre booming of the windows cracking and explosions coming from inside. They sounded like shots being fired, and the realization was clear; the gun safe. Whether it would hold completely or not, we were certainly not willing to stay and find out.

The journey for help would be rough, but was necessary. You see, we lived in a fairly remote area of the woods, and the only phones we had were in the house. Our nearest neighbor was ¾ miles away in over a foot of snow downhill. And the one working car we had available at the time was in use by my Mother who was working graveyard at the time.

We immediately began our blistering trek to our neighbor seeking help. When we were halfway there, we began hearing more crackling and picked up our speed.

The next bits all happened rather quickly in my memory. We were able to get in touch with our neighbor, called the fire department, called our Mother, and went to our church where my Father was the local Youth Pastor at the time via a ride from said neighbor. John, typically one to chirp and make a variety of unique noises and sounds, remained silent the entire trip.

Soon enough, after some medical scares we met with my mother and my family was united once more. One of my clearest, most striking memories actually comes from finally getting to talk to my then girlfriend. Simply hearing her utter the words “oh my god” after I informed her of the situation.

The tone in her voice completely encapsulated the raw shock and pain that we had been feeling the past several hours in a single moment. It struck me deeply and has stuck with me since. Immediately she informed me that she was going to rally help together, and that we had love and support.

We had contacted family, members of the church, and friends to let them know of the situation as well as to let them know we were alive. Just as before with my ex girlfriend, the support was immediate and profound.

From there, we were allotted assistance to a nearby hotel and shortly, we were stormed. I was absolutely stunned by the outpouring of support that surrounded my family. It wasn’t long before people from all over; friends, family, coworkers, schoolmates, strangers, were all dropping off clothes to the hotel. Food. Gifts. The support from my then girlfriend and her family was amazing as well, and I am exceedingly thankful for all that they did for us.

At this point, I had never owned a cellphone in my life. By the end of the day, I did. I remember my elder cousin coming in saying we had an Xbox on the way. The amount of sincere care and love to take care of us and make certain that we as a family were taken care of, felt loved, and had a good Christmas despite the setbacks was truly astonishing.

I had lost all of my guitars in the fire, and was originally scheduled to play a Christmas set for the Church. Though my older brother--who wasn’t living with us at the time, mind you--was going to lend me his current axe, I still would need my own eventually. I was dead set on using that guitar as it was my only option, when I was suddenly surprised by a stopping by from one of my best friends.

As it happened, he was also a guitarist and knew that I had the upcoming gig. He and his family pooled together funds to get me money to go buy a guitar. I was floored, and incredibly for not only his kindness, but the graciousness of his family towards me. I wouldn’t have to borrow an instrument; I would have my own, and it would mean something.

And it certainly did. While on my way to buy an inferior guitar, my mother suggested we go to a local pawn shop wherein she had seen a guitar that she had thought fit. I initially rolled my eyes at the idea, as my mind was set. But we went nonetheless. And as soon as my eyes saw it, I was transfixed. She was right, hard as it is for a child to admit at times.

And my heart sunk. It was out of my price range. However, the employees were familiar with my father and had heard about the situation, and were willing to bring the price down to what I could afford. I never forgot that; the genuine kindness that they showed.

Years later, I would eventually work at that shop as my first job, and those people that sold me that guitar became friends I still cherish to this day. And the guitar itself? Well. Though I have added numerous more to the stable, that instrument will always remain my most treasured. It was set. I would play the Christmas set at the country church with my metal guitar because that’s who I am. It was glorious.

One of the large acts from the church and local community came from the auction that was set to raise funds for our new home. It was fascinating to see all of the people come out to do what they can to help us out. From people I had known for years to people I had never seen, folks came in slews. It was incredible to see the support from everyone come together for a night of goodwill.

Without question though, one of the most important and valuable moments of charity for me personally came from my old school. Those that know me know that I can be a tad sentimental (read: find sentimentality in the mundane.) There are many, to be sure that I am eternally grateful for. You all know who you are, and you are all amazing. But there was one gift in particular that wrecked more than anything else.

The cape I borrowed for my Captain Loafers sketch in drama class in 8th grade.

I never thought that I would ever see it again, and along with it was a lovely note from my equally lovely friend Jill (name changed for privacy). This one got me the most.

I hadn’t talked to her in several years at that point, not in genuine. I believe I had been out of school proper for at least a year or two by this point, having dropped out of the latest alternative school and off campus programs respectively. And that was several years after I transferred to my first alternative school. Although at the time she had made it clear that there was no earthly way that I would ever get her brother’s vaunted fabric, there it was, sitting right before me.

Memories of our friendship, snapshots of life, sounds of conversations and in jokes, and myriad more flooded my mind. With the cape being the latest in a storm of gifts from old friends and loved ones, I was overwhelmed with thanks for just being remembered.

Indeed, moments like those are so potent and vital beyond simple monetary value. The ideal of still being a value to someone’s memory even after not having been in their life for whatever period of time is a worth beyond any jewel.

In the past months as I was packing my house to move and prior to conceiving this piece, I happened to find that cape. Over a decade later and it still gets me. I still teared up, and felt the warm embrace of thanks flood over me. You don’t need to see your friends all of the time. It's the moments you choose to show them you care that matter, and those pearls last a lifetime.

This year in particular has been an exceedingly difficult time for me in my personal life, not even mentioning the obvious global crisis. In many ways, I would even propose that it’s been more challenging than that fire year several fold. But finding symbols of past friendship and uplifting once more brings moments of hope in times of distress and darkness. These deeds can span lifetimes and help bring people back from their despair without the gift giver even knowing it.

In the week of Christmas 2008, my family lost our home and had no conceivable way out. We had no insurance, we had little income, and things looked grim. From the grace of God that we survived in the first place, to the continued good deeds, love and support that we received again and again from friends, family, strangers, and the community around us, our family was truly blessed and overwhelmed. It wasn’t just one person, two, or even ten.

There are so many ways to contribute and help someway in need or someone who has experienced hardship or tragedy. Whether it’s making sure a family made a call to the fire department and made it safely to a warm shelter, giving clothes, giving food, rallying others together, reminding the affected of how valuable they are to you and just being there for them and so much more.

Something that very well could have been a monstrous tragedy at so many points has now, for me, turned into a time in my life that I look back on with glowing admiration for the selfless care that was shown to us. I am so exceedingly thankful.

To all of my friends, family and loved ones: I cherish and love you all. Thank you all for being a part of my life, and for all of what you have done for me and for all of your help. Sincerely and truly, I adore you all.

And to quote the great Captain Loafers, “VIOLENCE IS BAD!”