It shouldn’t be news to anyone that tragedy hit some of our city’s finest a little more than 5 months ago. It’s especially not news to my family, who knew about it long before it was broadcasted. It’s not news that it greatly affected the KCFD brotherhood. That it affected the city — really, the country. It’s not news that my family, and so many others, has never cried so much together. That it brought my mom, my sisters and me back down to the realities that firefighting is much more than a job.
Because how many of us can say we’d give our lives for something that was.
Firefighting is a lifestyle. John and Larry knew that better than most.
I couldn’t write this blog post without first mentioning that.
My dad started the Kansas City Fire Academy on March 25, 1991, so my sisters and I don’t know a life without firefighting.
My mom actually snuck out of the hospital after having THREE babies at the same time to attend my dad’s KCFD graduation ceremony. Hospital bracelet and all. What a rebelliously supportive woman.
My brother was 2 at the time, so he made it to the graduation as well (pretty positive he and my mom carpooled), and that's why he’s my dad’s favorite kid.
Kidding. Probably.
Anyway, here’s the cutest little pic from that day. Actually, the cutest pic of all time. Good god. This was probably taken after Wade resolved his being afraid of the fire trucks and right before he decided he wanted to be a firefighter.
… or so goes the account of that day. As you can remember, we were days old and left in the hospital unattended. Basically forgotten while my family celebrated. I’m actually quite surprised my mom even came back for us.
Anyway, this isn’t about that.
I frequently get asked if it’s scary to have my dad (and now my brother too) fight fire, and that’s the thing with growing up around it. It’s normal, it’s typical, it’s every third day. You have to look at it like a job, no matter how hard that is to do.
Of course, it’s like the coolest damn job on the face of the earth — although, mom, dad would admit that raising four babies was much, much harder. (Also, let’s go back to the fact you didn’t run when you could’ve. Thank you.)
My mama, the giver that she is, knew how much we liked to visit my dad at Station 17s (where he spent 12 years driving Truck 2), or she viewed it as a free form of babysitting. Either way, she would take us to see him on his shift.
Let me tell you, those guys were the best “babysitters” we ever had.
Not Ashley, Lindsey, Courtney, Sophia, Tiffany or Katie (is that a lot of babysitters? that sounds like a lot of babysitters) let us have dough-ball fights in the kitchen, chair races down the hallway, play H.O.R.S.E 16 times in a row or climb all over big rigs while asking thousands of senseless questions.
“What’s this really sharp thing do?”
“Can I wear your helmet?”
“Is this the compartment with the really cold water?”
“Would you like to have a Dalmatian dog?”
“Dad, can we have a Dalmatian dog?”
For the record, Wade’s questions were more intelligent.
Of course, this was my dad’s time away from the chaotic foursome that are his children, so after approximately 42 minutes, he would always say the same thing: “Alright. Time to load up.”
He would essentially kick us out. Actually, there was no “essentially” about it.
He absolutely kicked us out.
My dad, who I assumed missed us while he was working his 24-hour shift, would tell us to leave. It was like, “your question-asking limit was reached 41 minutes ago, I’ve had patience up until now, time for you to go.”
We laugh about it now — mostly because he still does it when we “overstay” our welcome for Sunday night family dinners at the Headquarters.
Old dog. Same tricks.
Looking back I feel so lucky to have even had those 42 minutes at the fire station every so often. To get a glimpse into the brotherhood that exists. To know my dad’s second family. To hear stories about how hard of a worker my dad was on the roof and how he knew the roads so well that with him driving they’d be first on the scene.
Honestly, how lucky were we that we sold our Girl Scout cookies to the men that protect our city? That some of those very guys came to our track meets in high school. That we get to see their kids grow up now. Or even better, that my brother gets to call these guys his coworkers, his brothers.
This is a family that my dad has had for 25 years. Twenty-five years today. That means retirement. It could be today, tomorrow or when my mom is ready to have him home all the time… or, really, whenever my sister Evan’s medical insurance kicks in.
I can’t think of a harder working man than my dad. Or someone who deserves to be celebrated more. For he not only gave so much to the fire department in those 25 years but in return gave so much to our family.
Congrats to you, Dad! You did it. And you did it so damn well.