Years ago, when my three daughters were young, we moved to a quiet suburb of Boston. My husband already knew several guys and their wives from college who lived there —one of them, Joe, was an EMT/firefighter.
Since my girls enjoyed the tree house where we used to live, they asked me to build another for them. We had several large oak trees in the back yard. One was perfect. Three huge limbs grew out from the trunk, creating an ideal ‘seat’ for a tree house. The only downside was, this one would be much higher, but the girls were old enough to know they would have to be careful.
We were all pleased when it was finished —it was a great-looking tree house (this is close to what it looked like). We hung a swing and a couple of trapezes to the underside for extra fun, and it wasn’t long before the girls had a lot of new friends in the neighborhood. A tree house is a great ice-breaker, second only to a large sandbox or a Slip and Slide.
One new friend was a boy named Tommy. His family lived two doors down and my husband often talked with Tommy’s father, Max, when he came over to retrieve his son from their latest tree house adventure.
One fall afternoon, my husband went out the back door to call the girls in for supper. He came back inside all upset. Max was up in the tree house, standing on one of the sides, trying to reach one of Tommy’s mittens. Tommy explained he had been tossing them in the air and catching them and one caught on a high branch.
Max announced, “Tommy just got those and he knows better. It's the only matched pair he has and I’m not leaving without both mittens. Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”
My husband was afraid Max would fall —it would not only be unfortunate, it could mean a lawsuit. Max was diabetic, but he refused to leave without the other mitten.
I thought of our friend, Joe, at the fire department. I called and as luck would have it, he was working. I asked Joe if they had a long ladder we could borrow. I explained the problem with Max up in the tree house trying to reach the mitten and our worry that he could fall.
Joe said they weren’t busy and the station was only four blocks from our house. He would drive the ladder truck up. It would be easier and he knew it would be exciting for the kids.
Ten minutes later, we heard a siren screaming up our street with lights flashing —as promised, Joe had gone all out and the children were loving it. He rolled his window down and with a huge grin asked, “Okay, so where’s the tree house and the man trying to reach his kitten?”
[OMG. OMG. Joe thought I said kitten].
In the paper the next morning, on the front page, no less, was a short article about the hook and ladder’s emergency run to our house to rescue … a mitten.