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Why does a society treat certain things as taboos, constantly reminding everyone that they are wrong?
Because those ideas are deeply rooted in people's hearts.
Henry had no idea whether the other adults knew the chubby boy held such views. But judging from the dark, sour expressions on their faces, it was obvious that his outrageous remarks had shocked them as well.
The only question was whether what had been wounded was their pride—that the child they had raised had actually voiced something that should never be spoken aloud—or whether they genuinely disagreed with what he had said.
Henry had no obligation to teach someone else's child. He remained silent, watching the parents and the principal. They were the ones most qualified to speak, so he wanted to see how they intended to handle the situation.
If they couldn't teach their own child properly, then Henry would have to teach them first before letting them go back and teach their son all over again. That included the principal. It made no difference that she dressed herself up as an elite white woman.
Fortunately, the world wasn't filled entirely with unreasonable people. At least the father, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward and asked his son,
"Mark, why do you think that?"
The boy had stopped shouting, but he was still emotional.
"I know! I know everything! Johnson said you almost didn't make it back that day.
"If they hadn't done what they did, you wouldn't have been put in danger. And Marlene wouldn't be crying all the time because her father was buried beneath the collapsed Twin Towers."
Henry didn't know who the two people the boy mentioned were, but he could more or less guess. They were probably either family members of the victims or people closely connected to those who had died in the World Trade Center attacks.
The boy's father continued,
"Then have you ever seen Skye do anything like that? Anything illegal? Anything that hurt someone? Or even heard her say she wanted to hurt anyone?"
The agitated boy took a deep breath, as if trying to come up with examples.
But after holding it in for a long while, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"No."
The sensible father nodded.
"Exactly. Whether someone is good or bad shouldn't be judged by their appearance—it should be judged by their actions. If Skye has never done those terrible things and never said those kinds of words, how can you slander her?
"We should always be careful. The moment you decide someone is your enemy and refuse to embrace them with goodwill, they may truly become your enemy. Because that's what you're forcing them to become. You're leaving them no other way to live.
"Would you want someone to treat you that way, Mark? To accuse you of things you've never done, punish you for crimes you never committed, and make you pay a price you never deserved to pay?"
Ashamed, the boy lowered his head. Tears welled up in his eyes as he shook his head vigorously.
"No... I wouldn't."
His father patted him on the shoulder.
"Then can you give Skye a sincere apology and promise that something like this will never happen again?"
The chubby boy turned toward the girl he had argued with.
"Skye, I'm sorry. I was wrong. It won't happen again."
Henry also turned to look at the girl sitting beside him, but he said nothing.
After all, he wasn't her father, nor did he have any intention of playing that role, much less had he been accepted as such. Saying too much at a time like this would probably only backfire.
In the end, the girl figured it out herself. She stood up and said to her classmate,
"I accept your apology. And I'm sorry for hitting you too.
"But I have to point something out. The people who carried out the terrorist attack were Middle Eastern. I'm Asian! We don't even look alike, okay? So I wasn't exactly wrong to punch you until your eye swelled up."
"Pfft, pfft."
Henry crossed his index fingers in front of him.
"That's a racist remark, Skye. Apologize."
"That counts too?"
All four adults present nodded in perfect unison.
Pouting indignantly, the girl finally relented.
"Fine... I take that back. I'm sorry."
The little episode noticeably lightened the atmosphere.
The chubby boy's mother showered her son with hugs and kisses as usual, while his father walked over to Henry and extended his hand.
"Mr. Henry Brown, I've finally had the chance to properly introduce myself. Jonathan Smith, Captain of FDNY's Engine Company 12."
Henry stood and shook his hand with a smile.
"Ah, no wonder you looked familiar. Your crew was among the first to enter the North Tower, wasn't it?"
"That's right. Thanks to you, I didn't end up needing to be rescued myself... and I might not have made it back at all. I think you've already noticed just how terrified my family was that something like that would really happen."
Not wanting to take the credit, Henry replied,
"The person you should really thank is Police Commissioner George Stacy. I merely made a suggestion. He was the one who believed me and decided to issue the order."
"Joe, what does that mean?"
His wife—the chubby boy's mother—looked utterly confused.
The others wore the same expression of bewildered curiosity.
Henry raised a finger to his bearded lips.
Jonathan, who had been about to explain, could only close his mouth again.
He looked helplessly at Henry.
"That was actually a good thing. Why don't you want people to know?"
"Maybe... because I'm afraid people will ask why I didn't save someone else."
The explanation sounded somewhat unconvincing to outsiders. In truth, Henry had come up with it on the spot.
But to someone within the firefighting profession, Jonathan Smith understood all too well the psychological burden hidden behind those words.
No matter how many times firefighters told themselves, I did everything I could, there would always remain regrets.
Empathizing with him, Jonathan said,
"But you saved a lot of people too."
"To people determined to find fault with me, nothing I do will ever be enough."
When dealing with unreasonable critics, what else could you do besides cover your ears and ignore them?
"I'm not part of your system anyway. So just let me remain a complete outsider."
Jonathan squeezed his hand firmly once more.
"What else can I say? I'll respect your wishes."
Then he added sincerely,
"But I still have to say... thank you."
Seeing the curiosity of everyone else in the room practically spilling over, Henry changed the subject.
"Let's not talk about that anymore. As for your son's medical expenses..."
The father frowned.
"I've already checked. He only has a few scrapes and bruises. It's nothing serious. What bothers me more is that he actually got beaten into tears by a little girl and made things big enough that both sets of parents had to come to school. That's really embarrassing."
The chubby boy immediately exploded.
"I didn't cry! That's a lie!"
"So losing to a girl is the part that's true, then."
The father showed absolutely no mercy in teasing his own son.
Poor Skye was dragged into the conversation too, her face full of embarrassment.
The two grown men burst into hearty laughter.
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