In Southern California, I grew up in a house across from a vacant hillside, and my friend and I made it our default playground.
One day during the summer, we were playing downstairs and heard my mom yell for us to come upstairs. She said there was a fire on the hill across the street and then opened the door.
I still remember the blast of heat that hit me when that front door opened. Immediately, my mom went to work with the other moms on the street, dragging their garden hoses over to the hill and spraying the fire. Pretty soon, fire trucks arrived and blocked off our little street.
The fire didn't get across the street, and the firefighters were able to put it out, but it was scary to watch everything turn black so close to our house. When it was over, our local news station interviewed my friend's mom. Of course, my friend and I would not be out done. We stood in the window in her house (which was the background for the interview) and jumped up and down constantly waving our arms. In the newscast, you could see a couple silhouettes making fools of themselves in the background while this mom talked about how she felt like she nearly lost her house.
Classy. I have about as much tact now as I did then.