I covered a fire safety meeting tonight for the Blade. I actually couldn't wait to attend because I'm a freak about fire safety, and seat belt safety, and water safety, stranger danger, etc. I'm convinced that anyone who does this job for a long time eventually suffers from post traumatic stress disorder.
Photojournalists are up close and personal to so many disasters that we understand trauma and accidents can happen to anyone, anytime. I fear because I drive my children crazy with my hovering when they're riding bikes, swimming or playing on the jungle gym, they won't take me seriously when the danger is quite high, like when we walked the rim of the Grand Canyon last month. I was a maniac. "Watch your step!" "Don't walk too fast!" "Stay close to the left side!" I even got tired of hearing myself.
Despite my paranoia, I wouldn't change a thing, because I need to be able to sleep at night, knowing I did my best to protect them as much as you can prevent accidents, and that multiple smoke alarms strategically placed throughout my house are functional.
So I say this with motherly intuition: Make sure you have smoke alarms with fresh batteries in every bedroom and hallway; at least one fire ladder on the 2nd floor; and an escape plan that's well rehearsed.
And please, take me seriously just this one time.
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