What You're Made Of
Oprah Winfrey once said, “Everyone has a story.” This is very true! Everyone wants to feel that he or she is important and relevant!
I have watched many of the reality shows on television, and they have absolutely
not impressed me. A woman has 19 children,
and she gets her own show. For what? Is it extraordinary to do what God has ordained for her to do? That's crazy. Another time I saw a reality show about an elderly, rock singer.
It was terrible. He had abused drugs, and it was now a part of his legacy to the family.
I saw a reality show about a skate board professional; it was called “Rob and Big Black".
All of these people are similar, because they did something worth mentioning. Hello! Everyone has done something at sometime
worth mentioning! However, after the first few shows, everything else is just boring.
I believe that I too can be famous as Andy Warhol predicted for about fifteen minutes in
my life. Please continue reading, because this is my story of adventure.
As a young child I always found myself protecting those who were unable to protect themselves. I have never understood why God
set me up to be at the right place at the right time to give assistance. It started very early in my life. I was in middle school, and I can remember seeing a young, black girl
being pushed around by some white boys. They threw her books on the floor and made fun of her
bifocals. The fact that she wore long dresses didn't help matters much either. She was one of those virgins in our school. There were only a few of them left at Flanagan Middle school in South Florida. I have always been rather large and tall for my age, and as I came around the corner, I elbowed the larger more muscular
jock into the locker. Before the other jock could signal to his boys, I gave him a right to the jaw. The other one picked up the largest book on the floor to hurl it at me, and I instinctively gave him an upper cut.
"Fight, Fight. Fight!” I can still hear it in my ears as all of the students came charging around to see the event. They circled around me as I helped the young girl who found her legs pretty wobbly at this time. “Are you alright?” She nodded. My mother always told me to never put your hands on a girl.
I have 2 other brothers, Benjamin and Laurence. They are all tough, and all of the men in my family are or were athletes in school. Laurence is a student at UNCC now; he just came home after serving in the Air Force in Iraq. Benjamin takes boxing lessons at the gym, and he wants to work in the criminal justice field. I am studying Fire Safety at Central Piedmont Community College in Charlotte. My father
was a basketball star in high school and college in New York where he was raised in a very tough
neighborhood. My mother always prayed that her sons would make a difference here on earth. She
always talked about how my life is supposed to count for something. It has to have meaning. There must be a purpose for your life. I believe that now as I have gotten older. I want my life to count for something!
Years have passed, and I have gotten my certification as a Firefighter in beautiful South Florida where I have returned to live full time. I have a beautiful Spanish speaking wife and two sons, and I live in my old neighborhood called Silver Lakes. While enjoying a rare, quiet South Florida vacation on Bayside with the hommies, I look up and see the Hollywood Hills Hotel on fire, and smoke is coming out of a top floor apartment. I turn the car off 95 and pull my Ford F-150 in front of the hotel lobby.
There is no siren or alarm that has gone off. I demand that someone call 911 and the Fire Department. While there are shouts from my partners like “Let them handle it. You're off duty! Man, let's have some fun!”, I whirl around with my gear, my helmet, and ax in hand. On the 40th floor across from the elevator, I spot a door ajar and a beautiful woman in a floor length bathrobe has collapsed on the floor almost near the doorway. She tried to get out, but she fainted from all of the smoke. No one helped. The clerk had said that the whole floor was rented out by someone.... Using my ax, I break the window to let air come in. I picked up the young woman, placing a large watery towel over her face and brought her to safety. I extinguished quickly and professionally the fire from the drapes and the table where probably
the fire had gotten out of control when a cigarette had come into contact with what looked like,song sheets, hundreds of them.
The next day I picked up the Sun Sentinel, and there is my picture. Beyonce Saved by Firefighter, Charles Hite. My mother passed away a few years ago, but she is in Heaven smiling. My life truly has purpose!
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