Category: Career

Sportsmanship is dying…

theycallmebetty1 Comment

Today is a bit of a rant; A conversation with a co-worker got this ball rolling and I thought HMMMM maybe a little reminder to other parents might be nice. So hate me if you will, or agree with me if you so choose. It’s all good. Sometimes when raising our kids we are our own worse enemies

It’s that time of year again, the local paper tells the story. There are signs up all over town and anybody who is anybody has seen it posted on their Facebook page, a recommendation from a friend or board member! Little league baseball, girls softball, volleyball and kids basketball. Swimming. rugby, football and lets not forget soccer! All the wonderful sports that our children beg us to participate in are gearing up for another full season! Kids sports are great, I think all kids should have the opportunity to try out for multiple sports hopefully finding something they really enjoy. Nothing beats the feeling of accomplishment from participating and finishing seasonal sports. It’s a great way for kids from all over your area to meet and make friends with kids from other districts or schools. In my experience this makes the transition into middle school and high school much easier for kids when they get older.

But what I don’t like about kids sports, what really gets under my skin, the thing that makes me agitated, irritated and down right frustrated! ( I think I covered the three “ated’s”) Is the death of sportsmanship. Not from the kids, but from the parents. The overbearing, unsportsmanlike parents that come with each and every season. The parent that is single-handedly the loudest most obnoxious person at the event. The parent that publicly berates their child when that child doesn’t live up to their expectations. The parent who after embarrassing their child to the point of tears usually turns to another parent and justifies their horrific actions by pulling an “Al Bundy”. You know what an Al Bundy is don’t you? The “In high school I scored four touchdowns in a single game” routine! Because everyone knows that you, peaked in high school, therefore your child must bear the brunt of your failures and become a pro sports star to carry on the incredible legacy you have left behind! Yeah that guy! Oh and now that I have started this; it’s not just the guys either! It’s the moms too! You can’t miss them, heck, no-one can! They are the loudest most belligerent ones in the building! More obnoxious than any man could ever become! They slap their boy in the back of the head letting them know if their father was there he would surely be disappointed in this sub-par performance. They scream at their daughters constantly, so loudly the coach can’t be heard! And lord have mercy don’t you dare mumble anything about the team doing poorly when their baby is out there, she will turn on you like a lioness protecting her cub. Even though you never said anything in direct relations to little princess.

Listen its like this, I coached baseball for 5 years, it was fun, no; let me rephrase that, it was great! The kids were fantastic! They all come with desire and a wanting to learn the game, how it’s played and the rules. Many parents wish they could be present but balancing the needs of their kids along with the schedules that youth sports brings to the family dynamics can be difficult. That’s where a good coach can really bring the game to the next level for these kids! We are there everyday, on time, ready with a practice plan and a will to give our love of the game to a group of children that really wish to learn. If its done right the kids look up to us, we show them respect and admiration for a job well done. But every year no matter how hard we as coaches try there is always at least one “Al Bundy” that shows up running his/her mouth about the poor “quality” of coaching, or constantly yelling out new directions during the game which is inevitably NOT what you wanted the kid to do at that very moment. All you can think is if you wanted to be a coach why didn’t you sign up!

At some point that parent will also take great pleasure in berating a ref or two just for fun. Then just when you think everything is calmed down and under control, that poor child will be on the bench crying. CRYING! And do you know why? Because that nice, willing to learn, I love baseball more than anything kid will break under the pressure of trying their hardest to do what you want them to do but also trying to do what Al Bundy is screaming at them to do. The kid feels like he/she can’t let their parents down, they can’t let the team down, they can’t let the coach down and they can’t let themselves down. HMMMM that is a lot of emotional baggage for an adult to handle let alone a child. Not only is it a lot for the child to carry but it mentally affects the entire team!

Before you know it the kid is underperforming, coming late to practice, causing problems with other team mates and the kid doesn’t know why. It breaks my heart every time. Super competitive, out of control parents bring mental destruction to more talented kids than injuries, poor coaching, and poor performance in my humble opinion.

Now you can say to yourself; What the heck does he know! He only coached for 5 years, what experience is that? There are plenty of competitive parents that raise super successful sports stars! You would be right there are plenty of competitive parents that raise wonderfully talented well-balanced, intelligent children and see them through all their successes. But its done through positive reinforcement! Not unsportsmanlike, negative, soul crushing belittling.

This is what I know; After five years of coaching baseball, the boys and I were headed to sign ups/try-outs. They were not looking their usual “Joe DiMaggio” selves. Sensing something was amiss, I leaned over the seat and asked them what was up? I received a sheepish reply of “nothing”. I said: come on out with it? Silence was my only reply. As they stared, talking to each other with their eyes. It hit me! Yep right then it dawned on me, I had become that super competitive idiot with my own kids? Except I worse than one of those parents, I was the coach…. I couldn’t understand how this happened! I loved baseball, I loved to play it, I fully understood the game and its unique strategies. But with my own kids I had pushed them into not liking the game anymore, by forcing them to play harder and better than I ever dreamed of playing. So I swallowed hard, leaned back over the seat and asked them both; Are you guys playing for me or are you playing for you? With heads hung low they both said; Dad we are playing for you. With that I turned the truck around and we went out to lunch. It was one of the best lunches I can remember.

So listen to your kids, protect them from the “Al Bundy’s” of the world. Even if that “Al Bundy” turns out to be you. Teach them that “Winning” is the by-product of fair play, sportsman like conduct, honest training and a true love for the game/sport they are playing. Praise them on a job well done and praise them on a dignified loss, teach them to respect their opponents when they lose. For the only way to understand the thrill of victory is through the agony of defeat.

One last thing; as I learned the hard way, just because you played a particular sport, doesn’t mean your kid is going to want to play the same sport. Let them choose, let them try, then let them try something new until they find what they enjoy playing. Also, if they just don’t like any sports that’s ok too. Love them for who they are, because how they turn out as adults is a direct reflection of how you turned out as a parent. Once again, just my opnion….

My wife the single parent

theycallmebetty3 Comments

She rises at 5:30 to start her long day.  A shower, some coffee, a heavy sigh, a moment alone.  She does her hair and makeup before the sun rises.  A brush of the teeth, a layer of lipstick, a wry little jokeresque smile.  She looks at the little lines on her eyes, sighs, then puts her game face on, its time to go.  The doors are tossed open the covers pulled back, sleepy eyes open to thin light from the hallway afar.  The first two are moving, then its down the stairs, the last two still sleeping, time ticking, alarm sounding, no response.  A gentle rock of the hand, a slight whisper in ear.  The last two have awoken, they stretch rise and get dressed.  Breakfast is a hustle, like that of a subway coffee stand.  A bagel, a doughnut, some cereal, or toast.  Four other people, begging for help, wanting some food, needing their hair brushed, gathering some thoughts.

Lunches are made she is feeling the pressure, the clock is ticking departure is near.  One goes to high school and starts zero period.  Three go to elementary school their arrival is eminent.  The dogs are outside playing with glee, the goat and the horses munch quietly on their breakfast of oats and hay.  The two oldest return with reports on the animals well-being, subjects are changed, backpacks are filled, home work is gathered now head to the car with five minutes to spare.  One last cup of coffee before heading away, only to find no one has a jacket, two forgot their lunches and one wants to argue about whether or not his pants are too dirty to go to school that day. 

As she pulls out the driveway, one in the back screams he forgot his clarinet, the car turns around and in a jiffy she’s back where they started.  It’s at this point she can feel the pressure truly mount.  The high schoolers grade gets dinged if he’s late and we are ten miles from town.  Nine times out of ten they make it in time, but he is now grumpy for this is the tenth time.  She rushes across town to the elementary school and finds her parking spot.  You see this is where she works, her three children now turn into thirty.  Thirty kids who all need the same attention as that of her three.  A deep breath a moment in the car, a poised smile on the face, a whistle in hand and before she can catch her breath she is directing hundreds of other parents where to park and drop off their little angels.  As these parents drive some give her the nod.  The nod of “I understand what you’re going through right now” the gesture is returned with appreciation.  Some simply smile, some wave.  Some are truly glad to see her for she brightens their day and some are so self-absorbed they wish she would just get out-of-the-way. 

In a flash it is done not before she is frozen by the mornings bitter air.  But she turns on her heels and steps into the hallway that leads to her room where her partner reveals, the plans for the day and the lesson to be learned.  Its assist a child over here, adore a child there, its bathroom breaks and sorry mishaps.  Its challenges met and opportunities missed, its laughing and crying and some throwing fits.  It’s a fine ballet of tag team education where the goal always remains the same; send children home with more brain power than they came to school with that particular day. Teachers and parents, administrators and children, she feels attached to them all both mentally and emotionally.  By the end of the day she feels a strong sense of accomplishment and a foreboding sense of exhaustion.  For she understands the day is not done and as she winds down from thirty daughters and sons, she’s left facing the remaining three that need her the most. 

A half hour break then the pick-up begins, first the little ones then the high schooler and before she knows which way is up and which way is down she has a car full of the most important children she knows.  One would think the day was over, but not for our girl, she still has grocery shopping to do, animals to feed and horses that need riding.  Stalls need cleaning and friends who have looked forward to seeing her are happy she is there at the barn.  The smallest ones are tired, and grumpy is rearing its ugly head.  Squabbles and bickering are broken up, feelings are hurt and she does her best to referee.  A sit in the car, a timeout, a strong reprimand along with a please say your sorry thrown in for good measure.  A parent is apologized to for some inappropriate behavior, it’s always met with an “its ok I had kids once that age too” then the nod of understanding soon follows. 

By the time she returns home 12 hours have passed, it’s homework and dinner, showers and bedtime stories.  The kids once again take care of the dogs, put out the trash, quickly pick up their rooms and get ready for bed.  If she’s lucky everyone gets along and it all goes swimmingly.  If she’s not lucky its reminiscent of a gang fight at Pelican bay. 

By eight things have started to wind down, a few dishes are washed, a load of laundry is done, some clothes are folded.  The two little ones have laid down their heads. they are fast asleep as the worries of a hard day, education and playing have taken its toll on their little frames.  The two older ones have finally settled down, one is reading, the other is quietly watching a hunting show.  She slowly for the first time today starts to let her guard down.  A glass of wine and some brain-dead TV usually do the trick. 

As the warmth of the wine settles into her soul, one child goes up to bed and the oldest stays up just a smidge longer.  You see he knows what is going to happen next.  At fifteen he is starting to grasp the strains of a fully scheduled day.  He also holds quite a bit of responsibility as older brother to his younger siblings.  He switches channels and gazes across the room, checking so carefully not to disturb her for he knows it will happen quite soon.   Another glass is poured and before it can be savored. She simply slips off to sleep, so soundly, so quietly, the comfort of white noise, good wine and a soft comforter are more than her frayed senses can handle. 

He lets her sleep for a while then carefully wakes her.  He points her in the right direction, waiting for her to make it to the top of the stairs.  He turns out the lights, locks the doors and sends himself to bed.  She clears the top of the stairs, takes a warm shower where she washes away the emotional grime of the day.  Slowly she makes it into her empty bed, she mumbles, she grumbles and turns on the TV.  You see white noise makes it easier to fall asleep when you are all alone.  When you are a single parent.  When you need some form of comfort after a hard day.  And as she drifts off into the land of dreams and serenity she thinks about the day he will return to give her the break she so desperately seeks.  Ahhhhhh sleep.

5:30 am the alarm goes off……

This is truly a typical day for my wife.  I wrote this out of admiration for her, for all the wives of public servants, true single parents and military personnel who are gone for days, weeks, months and in the case of the military years at a time.  As a firefighter I am not home for a guaranteed 10 days a month.  Though most months its closer to 12-14 days.  That is half a month away from our families and our wives.  They are amazing people to be married to us, and yet at the same time be alone as single parents.  Its never easy for a couple, I respect you all and promise to give all I have as a father and friend when I am home. Out of respect for you.. 

I love you Jacy……….

 

Am I going bald?

theycallmebettyLeave a comment

Oh mirror mirror on the wall who is the baldest one of them all????  Hah! Not me! For I have a full head of hair! Oh yes I do!  A full head of flowing Norwegian blonde hair, the kind of hair that Fabio himself would adorn.  When I comb it in the morning birds tweet outside my window in approval.  As I head off to work, my wife runs her hands through shimmering locks with a heavy sigh of contentment.  The door opens to the world outside and the winds die down out of respect for my feathered mane.  To see me is to love me for as I shake my head side to side, men stare in awe at the unbelievable attraction that is my hair and they want to be me! 

Ok are we done vomiting now? Wrech, blech, huuuaaaahhh!  My little trip down “full of myself” lane was fun but here are the facts.  I am 45 years old and my hair is thinning slightly.  It is doing this in an area I prefer to call the forward cul-de-sac.  You know the space right above your brow line traveling back about even with the front middle of your head but not quite far enough back to be your cow-lick.  It thins in a pattern that resembles a cul-de-sac on any city street.  When you gaze through the thin layering of hair, you can almost envision the new neighborhood being built, right there on you head!

We all know people afflicted with this horrible sign of aging.  They run around trying their best to cover it up.  Baseball caps suddenly are worn by people who never really liked baseball caps.  Hair is grown longer on one side of the head to produce the perfect “comb-over”, where the longer hair is literally combed over the bald spot. The part line has now moved from a respectful 2 degrees south of the mid cranial line to a full-blown 90 degrees south hovering right above the top of the ear! There of course are those that embrace the cul-de-sac look and wear it quite nicely, but in my opinion you had better have a pretty stellar shaped head to pull that off otherwise you end up looking as though you are wearing mink earmuffs all year-long! Then there is the Bruce Willis, Vin Deisel, Samuel L Jackson group that have just said screw it and gone completely bald! They look good, no they look GREAT! They pull it off, oh yes! But even if they didn’t I sure as hell wouldn’t tell them otherwise!  They would kick my butt!  

So how did I get to this point.  I have two brothers who have full heads of hair, and in reality I still have a full head of hair.  When I gel my hair, or it is wet that’s when you really see the outline of the cul-de-sac starting to show.  Its like purchasing land on an Alabama lake front, (that’s another story) you know there is land under that vegetation, but until you start pulling out the trees and shrubs one by one you never really get a good view of the property line!  Nice visual huh? Now I know this whole “thinning hair” thing doesn’t seem like a big problem at all, but it’s getting worse and I just want to know why?  Why me?  Why is my hair going away?

 As I am left grinding my teeth pondering the issue, it hits me.  It’s the kids fault! Shazam! It’s the damn kids fault!  BA-DOW! Thats it! When I was young, unmarried and spry, I was a handsome devil, with no cares in the world.  My biggest decision was choosing the bar where I was meeting my buddies that night and of course when my next paycheck would arrive.  Life was good.  I owned stock in macaroni and cheese, and my fridge held a gallon of milk, plenty of beer, lunch meat and hot dogs.  The hot dogs were for Sunday night dinner when I would dress up the mac n cheese!  I had no stress, I also had LOTS of hair!  I looked like Andi Freaking Gibb! (sorry my generation, my timeframe).  Then came marriage!  Marriage was good-no marriage was great!  Just me and my lady, hanging out, watching TV, eating real food because mac n cheese was for bachelors and children!  Yeah it was soo nice….  Then came children, it starts out so exciting and wonderful, you can’t believe the little miracle the two of you have created!  He is laying there all wrapped up and cute and snuggly and cute and look oh he made a sound, ahhhhhh he’s sooooo cute…  And then the kid doesn’t sleep for six freaking months straight, which means you also don’t sleep for 6 months straight! Cue crankiness!! Then there’s making sure he is safely in his stroller, and car seat and high chair which sits in a kitchen that has cabinets locked tighter than Fort Knox!  He starts walking then running then riding a bike, then riding a dirt bike, then riding horses and hunting and driving, and dating and going on overnight trips with his friends and before you know it!  HAIR IS FALLING FROM YOUR STRESSED OUT LITTLE HEAD LIKE SNOW IN THE HIMALAYAS!

I mean SERIOULSY over the last two years I have just been getting thinner and thinner, and I don’t want to be “that guy”!  You know, the guy who everyone talks about after he leaves the room!  Hey dude did you see his head?  Holy cow man talk about a receding hairline, it’s not receding that thing is in full retreat!!  Why does he even bother to put gel in his hair?  I don’t know, but someone needs to tell him?  Or worse yet I end up shaving it all off then I’ll be “that guy” again.  Ho hoo, yeah that’s right I’m bald!  Oh yeah baby its a solar panel for a love machine!  Whoa buddy just rub it for luck, hey baby that’s right the carpet really does match the drapes!!  YYYUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!!!!

That can’t happen I wont let it, I hated it when my dad was spewing those oh so witty remarks!  It was just plain embarrassing!  No No I will take it like a man, I have too.  Yes, yes professionalism and maturity all the way!  If I am going to lose my hair I am going out dignified!  No Rogaine, No hair club for men, No scalp treatments, No baseball caps or wigs and definitely NO weaves!  I’ll shave it off like a man and wear that jet white scalp like a terrified buck private at boot camp!  That is it! Yes sir only two third degree sunburns and few skin peels and I’ll have that thing shining like a new penny!  Yep that’s the ticket! Three more kids to raise another handful of hair to lose!  Ahhhh its good to come to terms with this issue.  Love your kids, lose your hair, I think it might just be a fair trade-off..

Now, what the heck am I going to do about the grey?????

Is a dog mans best friend?

theycallmebettyLeave a comment

 

A dog is mans best friend.  How many times have you heard this phrase?  “A dog is mans best friend”. Its sounds like a viable statement doesn’t it?  A dog is mans best friend?  See I have heard this all my life.  My mom raised AKC (American Kennel Club for those not in the know) dogs for profit, when I was a kid, and you always heard that statement flying around.  A dog is mans best friend???  HHHMMMM? I know it must be true because when my friends come back from duck hunting they’re always touting the excellent agility, loyalty and just plain olympic caliber performances that each of their dogs has displayed.  And yet it still doesn’t set with me.  Are those things what really makes a dog your best friend?

My son asked me the other day; why is a dog mans best friend? Why not a cat? I stumbled on the question for a minute, while reflecting on the many dogs I have cared for in my life. While recognizing I did not have one friend that had a cat as their “best friend”.  I thought of the loyalty, and the love shown by those animals, I thought about how after time they became like a member of the family.  And like a member of the family, lets say oh the uncle no one want to see or the great-aunt with bad breath that no one wants to smooch at the family reunion.  There are a few dogs who have graced my life that I just don’t miss at all!  So I take a good hard swallow looked my boy right in his steely little eyes and pulled this little gem of half whitted wisdom out for him to hear!

Son, I don’t believe a dog is mans best friend, on the contrary, I believe it’s a boys best friend.  (I know you are scratching your head right now and spouting; WHAT YOU TALIKING BOUT’ WILLIS!  As he raised one Vulcan eyebrow to comprehend this masterpiece of wisdom I continued on before he stripped a gear thinking about it.

Son its like this, when you are a young lad all you think about besides candy, hot wheels and ice cream is getting a dog.  He nodded his head in approval.  I continued; There are not to many boys in this world that have not begged for a dog at least once in their adolescent existence.  Boys across this country have sat in their room and daydreamed about the dog they would own.  A dog that would be their very best friend and go everywhere with them, protecting them from all the evil in the world.  Hunting with them across the undiscovered countryside of the early west, trapping beaver and chasing squirrels.  Knocking down buffalo and traveling on safari together you and your dog would be an inseparable pair.

Some boys actually live the dream as many parents cave into the begging, crying and whining.  The dog is usually a present, based on Hallmark holidays arriving with a bow and a sack of dog food.  For the lucky young lad a new life emerges.  One of countless hours of training, playing and poop pick up.  Shouts of joy from success, and tears of anguish when failure rears its ugly head.  But at the end of the turmoil a young lad now has a new best friend.  If he is lucky the dog is allowed to go with him everywhere, sleep on or in his bed and lay on his lap while watching tv.  They become two peas in a pod.  The adventures are not quite what was dreamed about, but through the magic of imagination they are darn close.  The dog is there when the boy has a horrible day to secretly cry on (remember in testosterone filled mythology boys don’t cry) and the dog is there to talk too when things aren’t going so well.  No girl is ever allowed to touch said dog, and a paw to hand pact is made that a woman will never come between them.  The dog is always happy to see him when he gets home, and equally as sad when he leaves for school in the morning. The best thing is both boy and dog think “farting” is the funniest thing in the world!

There you are, all the proof I need! I say verily that yes, the dog truly is the “boys” best friend!

Now don’t get me wrong, there are many men out there with dogs.  These animals are loved and cared for and are truly part of the family.  But its a different bond. You see in the eyes of the boy, the dog is everything! In the eyes of a man, the dog is part of a much bigger picture. The family.  So that’s my justification for why dogs are a boys best friend.

Just for the record, this all came about, because my oldest son finally went and purchased his very first dog.  It’s a hunting dog, a German short hair. According to my son its cute and funny and really smart.  She retrieves really well and is very happy to be with him. The dog came home today and we will slowly be inducting her into our family.  See, spoken like a true man…. Sit ubu sit…

The little voice

theycallmebetty2 Comments

 

I had a conversation with my oldest son in regards to what career path he might wish to take after high school.  We have all had this conversation with our parents.  The “what do you wanna be” conversation.  It was always uncomfortable too, like you were afraid to give the wrong answer and disappoint your poor bewildered parents. 

There isn’t one parent alive that likes it when their kid answers “I don’t know”.  But the truth is sometime you don’t know.  Sometimes the answer isn’t black and white, night or day.  Sometimes the answer is inside you and it just needs to come out on its own….

Remember the feeling you had as a kid when a fire engine went by?  It was big and red, with lights all over the top and sides.  There were three to four firefighters with big mustaches, and huge muscles waving at every little boy and girl who crossed their path.  You didn’t know exactly why you liked the firefighters so much, but you did.  Mom was always over the top embarrassing around them and dad always acted a little put out.

The firefighters were our childhood hero’s, they put out fires, they saved lives.  Sometimes they would come to our school and teach us about fire safety!  Those were always the best days!  You would huddle with your best buddies and talk about how you were going to be a firefighter when you grew up!  How there was never, ever going to be a firefighter as good as you!  Then your crew would argue about who was going to really become a firefighter, who was going to drive the engine, who would be in charge of putting out fires! This argument sometimes got you into plenty of trouble with the teacher as your mumbling soon turned into yelling, thereby drowning out the nice firefighter who was speaking. 

After the firefighters left you and your friends would run out to the playground making siren sounds, and doing circles around the monkey bars.  The monkey bars were on fire and only the bravest were allowed to put out the fire.  Of course that was a job for your crew and your crew only!  Any other kids who had the same conversations and dreams after the assembly were quickly dispatched to another incident on the playground!  ( incident command 101 people!) A few fake squirts of water, a pat on the back or two and then the imaginary truck would head back to its imaginary firehouse where one of the guys would pretend to make us imaginary lunch. Because that’s all firefighters really do is save lives, put out fires, play cards and eat! (sarcasm)  And the other three washed the imaginary rig so it sparkled like a new penny for the next fire during afternoon break! 

Today looking back to those times I reflect on the fact that I really never wanted to become a firefighter, I wanted to be a truck driver. (snicker all you want) When I graduated from high school I worked many jobs, all of them leading up to actually driving my own truck.  It was good, the job made me more money than I had ever known!  I did it for ten years, faithfully showing up everyday for work early and usually going home very late in the evening, sometimes 9-10pm.  I was good at my job, I was faithful, I was making an extraordinary amount of money for the times.  But there was always something wrong, like I was missing something.  You see I was empty inside.  I always knew I had a greater purpose!  I always knew there was something more important that I was supposed to be doing.  Sometimes when I was driving for 4-5 hours straight I would ponder this and have full-blown arguments with myself.  Who the Hell was I to think I was so important, that this honorable blue-collar job was not my true calling?  But there it was, always in the back of my mind, nagging at me like an old jewish mother!  (best jewish accent) Ya know you’re better than this!  Ya know the world is just waiting for you, I know it I’m your mother!! A mother always knows!!!

That jewish mother in my head was right!  Today I go to work for 48 hours straight, sometimes 96 hours straight.  I still work hard to provide for my family, I take classes when ever I can to improve my job skills.  I am making enough money to support my family and I am comfortable with the choices I’ve made to get where I am today.  I don’t drive around with a nagging voice in my head anymore and when I feel the need to express myself I do it by writing, both for myself personally and as a part of my job.  You see I am one of those kids from the playground that grew up to become a firefighter.  I don’t have to argue with anyone about who is going to drive the fire engine.  Its my job!  I don’t have a mustache, I am healthy and in good shape, I run and lift weights 3-4 times a week.  I have trained and worked alongside some of the finest men and women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

Firefighters are indeed a special breed of human being.  Not for the glorified, chest thumping reasons television would like you think, but because they have all had the same voice nagging at them since they were kids.  Some entered the fire service right away, some found their way through the military while others took the same path I did only to find out by listening to that little voice, they had initially made the wrong choice.  I have 17 years in and ten more to go.  I don’t have a golden retirement system as the news would like you to believe.  My paychecks pay for a good portion of my benefits and retirement and what I do have is something greater than any pay, larger than any retirement package could ever offer.  Its called satisfaction. 

I will never win national awards, I will never be famous for anything important, I will never own some luxury house on a hill overlooking the sea. Those self indulgent things are not what I am looking for; But I will sleep well at night knowing I tried my hardest to save your family members life.  I will rest easy on days off knowing that my crew knocked down the fire in your home saving a majority of the belongings and keeping it from burning to the ground.  I will be able to tell my kids with a smile how we cut an infant out of the backseat of a Toyota that was all but destroyed!  Unfortunatley Iwill carry with me for eternity all the horrible sights and sounds of death that you will never ever have to smell, feel, touch or see.  I will always respectfully, remember the poor souls who did perish in my presence regardless of our efforts. I will walk away from this job knowing that when I heard a voice telling me there was something more for me out there, I listened to it, I followed my heart, and my soul reaped the benefits.

Teach your kids its ok not to know, but with the responsibilty of not knowing comes the even greater responsibilty of not sitting around waiting for the answer to appear.

There is truly something great in us all, find that passion, search for that calling and always listen to the little voice in your head.  If you shut off that voice you are destined to the reality you have created…….