When I was 16, I went backpacking with my father in the Southern Rockies. We were climbing the slope of a small mountain when a harsh and unexpected hailstorm took us by surprise. The temperature immediately dropped from moderate to freezing, and the dry dirt began to slide under our feet. My time in the Boy Scouts had taught me to seek higher ground in this situation, but we didn’t know at the time how dangerous it was. Rainwater made our trail slick, but I found a clear path that ascended up the mountainside between a series of deeply-rooted saplings. I grabbed hold of one to stabilize myself, but Dad was struggling through the mud and wasn’t going to make it up.
At that moment I knew that I had to help him or he would die. He’d been adulterous and ignorant, but he was my dad and I loved him and I might’ve killed to save him at that moment. Thankfully, all it took was extending my arm, which he seized eagerly, and pulling with everything I had. I managed to pull him up despite the conditions, and he shook all night in our tent. I didn’t know if he’d make it, but he did. He still tells people about my actions to this day, and I have a hard time understanding why. I easily could’ve let him descend into the worst stages of hypothermia, and my life would be very different.
Maybe it was late, or just a convenient assessment of reality, but this was the first time I realized that my decisions can impact the lives of others.
The following users say it would be alright if the author of this
post didn't die in a fire!
