One day while walking through our village, I spotted a neighboring village with smoke billowing out of the streets. I was stunned I knew they needed help. I ran as fast as I could back to my Dad’s shop and called out to him hoping that I would find him there. I heard muffled screams from below in the basement. I barreled down the stairs at an alarming speed, when I approached the last step I tripped and fell into my father’s arms. He asked me, “What’s wrong? What has happened?” I explained to him that the neighboring town was caught on fire and they needed our help.

So me and my dad sprinted toward the local fire station and called out to the police chief that we need his help immediately. He gathered up the firefighters and the trucks and dad and me followed in his bright baby blue pickup. When we arrived to help save the village we found a strange sight there were hundreds of people burning wood statues in the middle of the street. I was so confused when we asked one of the bystanders what was happening he claimed that the town was celebrating the birth of JuJu and that we should join them.

I felt so embarrassed I thought there had been a real danger. My dad reassured me that I have done nothing wrong and not to be ashamed. He said he was proud of me. I was confused. I said through my sniffles, “Why are you proud of me I have done nothing right!” He was so proud that I cared for these people that I did not even know, and that is the best quality about me he said. I was happy heading home that day. Better to be safe than sorry.