“Oh, he’s a volunteer…oh. I’ve heard this sentiment more times than I
care to think about when I refer to my husband as a fireman. I’ve encountered this snub on many occasions. Many times by people who have no clue what
being a volunteer means.
It means rushing out the door as I put family dinner on the
table because a call comes in. It means
getting out of a warm bed in the middle of the night because of alarm
activation. It means missing a birthday
party or a family occasion because someone got into a car accident. It means ascending a ladder to vent a roof
when flames are shooting out of windows.
It means putting his life on the line to save and protect his community
without the luxury of a union behind him.
He doesn’t get to work 20 years and then live the rest of his life with
a nice pension.
I take nothing away from paid fireman. They have very difficult jobs and I’m sure
they should be paid more. But, a fire
doesn’t know if the person who came to extinguish it is being paid or not. It doesn’t discriminate when it comes to
taking lives or leaving scares. It
doesn’t care if the family being left behind will be taken care of by the union
or left without a husband and father. It
destroys without regard to a uniform.
Volunteer is not a dirty word to me.
For more than 20 years my husband has volunteered his time and talent to our community. I admire him everyday for his selfless decision. To him it's not about wearing a radio and turning on a blue light. His demeanor is meek and his badge says volunteer, but his heart says professional.
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