Column: It’s not a job, it’s a calling
By Dan Kontos
You hear people ask each other all the time, “What do you do for a living?” According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, there are roughly 1,300 to 1,500 distinct job classifications that they track, depending on how you count them.
Some jobs are more complex, more demanding, more rewarding than others. Ask any auto mechanic, teacher, small business owner, bus driver, customer service representative, sous chef, or graphic designer, and they will all tell you what makes their job unique and special.
Some careers can be lumped together in roughly related ways, like landscapers, educators, skill tradesmen, artists, entrepreneurs, and entertainers. Related by a common thread, but still unique in their own right.
A “medical professional” could be a physician, a phlebotomist, a surgical technician, a dental hygienist, a physical therapist, or one of a countless number of others. Unique and distinct, but connected by a common bond of taking care of people. You just know that the qualities that make these people do what they do, drive them all the time.
I expect a nurse practitioner to be knowledgeable, compassionate, caring, and detail-oriented. Sure, there are exceptions to the rule, and degrees of attainment, but as a general rule, we can expect to know what makes them who they are – at a minimum.
The same goes for the world of “first responders.” We know them by many titles. Law enforcement officers, firefighters, emergency medical technicians, and others. It’s the “others” that I want to talk about. The others that may not be out on the streets, per se, but are cut from a very similar cloth as the rest. Responding to the unknown and often putting themselves in no less danger than their better-known colleagues.
For first responders, as anyone who is in the know can tell you, the best of them have certain qualities that cause them to stand out. Things like being quick-thinking, selfless, and brave. Let me tell you a story.
Imagine a sunny beach in Florida. Several groups of visitors crowd the waterfront to enjoy the water, the warmth, and the scenery. Families sit on folding chairs under large umbrellas while children splash in the ocean. Couples stroll the boardwalk and gaze out at distant boats while seagulls circle above.
One young child digs out a sand castle, frustrated by the seawater seeping into her fortress foundation. Another child, say about five years old, strikes out on his own to swim offshore, leaving his grandparents to their conversations.
The young lad is enjoying himself, free to frolic and thrash around, not disturbing anyone nearby. The tide is powerful as the afternoon comes to a close. The lifeguards – done for the day. The posted red flag cautions regarding strong rip currents were certainly plainly visible, but for a five-year-old, they may as well have been written in Greek.
The lad starts to drift further out away from the shore, increasingly carried laterally away from his family. A man and woman watch from a nearby pier. Concerned that he is drifting too close to the pylons for comfort, watching the waves crash against the giant wooden supports, the couple calls out to him to get away from the pier and go back to shore.
Children; they often don’t listen. They want to be free to do their own thing. But this doesn’t appear to be the case. The boy looks to be struggling in the high surf, caught in the undercurrent those signs warned about, but not read – at least not by this boy. He was being carried at an ever-increasing speed towards the pylons, in seven-foot water that he could not stand in. No family coming to his aid, no water rescue specialist sprinting to save him.
There was no time to call for help, no time to wait, no time to coldly calculate the pros and cons of action. That’s not what first responders are made of – not when they can’t afford to be.
The young woman standing under the pier, calling out to the struggling lad; she was an off-duty first responder. Not a cop, or an EMT, but a corrections officer. Not just any corrections officer, but a vacationing officer from Portage County.
Without a moment to lose, she jumped into the water. The officer managed to grab the young boy and shield him from the rough, worn, and barnacle-covered wooden support. Cut, bleeding, and exhausted, the woman eventually managed to get herself and the young victim to shore with the help of her companion.
Yes, it was confirmed by a witness that more than a few choice non-kid-friendly words were exchanged with the adults of the boy’s family, who curiously insisted that they were watching the five-year-old. Not all common first responder traits are completely virtuous.
The right person, at the right place, at the right time. Traveling from Portage County, Wisconsin, to the shore of that Florida Beach. On that particular day, at that exact time. Let’s make her a first responder, and a former swimmer in her youth. Tell me there are no such things as miracles.
Corrections officers are used to working in conditions that would literally destroy someone who isn’t cut from the right cloth. Despite working in harsh conditions, they are the first to respond to emergencies in the jail. They stay vigilant, respond to fights, are involved in as many rescues as the average police officer, detect crimes, and fend off assaults. Surrounded by blood and bodily waste, mental illness, intoxication, and just plain angry people, they maintain their professionalism and a genuine desire to help people.
That’s just what they do. You can’t turn it off any more than you can stop being who you are, even when you’re vacationing some 1,500 miles away from home.
Nice job, officer. You are undoubtedly cut from the right cloth. We’re proud of you.
So, with that, let’s meet in the opinion section to talk about all of it, boldly, honestly, with an appreciation for all our public servants, and with a healthy respect for each other. While you don’t have to jump into a riptide, look for ways you can help others, too. Until the next time, remember that God loves you, and so do I.