I guess diggers, confined space rescuers, CPR on dead baby performers, body part recoverers, hanging brother cutter-downers and the million and one other things we do when nobody else knows what to do doesn’t fit on our helmet shields.
Why am I writing this now?
Maybe I’m a little tired of signing on to social media, or turning on the news and hearing about the recent town or city that closed fire companies or reduced manning or laid firefighters off, and demanded pay cuts and benefit concessions and more hours.
Maybe I’m tired of having people ask, innocently enough, what was the worst thing I’d ever seen, as if my telling them some gruesome story will somehow add spark to the conversation and liven up their party without destroying whatever good time I was having. Maybe I’m tired of saying things like, “I didn’t cause this, I just responded and tried to make things better.”
Maybe I’m sick of hearing how firefighters shouldn’t be able to sleep at the station, or shop for dinner, or retire after “just 20 years.”
Or, maybe I’m just tired.
Image by Eric Norberg