People ask me if I get scared because my husband is a firefighter and I always say no and mostly that’s true. When I think of Mike at work, I see a table full of guys eating dinner; lots and lots of meat in that picture, pounds of meat, amazing amounts of meat.
I see him working out or training or at the grocery store milling amongst the housewives picking out dinner, mopping floors, practicing with the ladders; vague hazy images of fraternal bonding.
It’s not the truth but it’s the truth I use to get through the day.
Sure I know he goes to fires. Sure I know he is involved in rescues but I like not to think about the details until he is home safe with a cup of coffee and his cozy pants on.
But when he doesn’t come home in the morning, I start to wonder if he stayed over to chat or enjoy another cup of coffee or if his relief man was late or overslept. One half hour into the lateness, unease creeps over me like a slow setting flu and I reluctantly head to the computer.
Damn, there’s a fire RIGHT NOW AND HE’S IN IT.
I won’t rest until he’s home. I brew some coffee and set out his cozy clothes and I start to worry for real.
That’s his job and the sad part is I get paid more per hour then he does.
I serve food.
Yes, there’s the added bonus for firemen of only working ten days a month but hey, guess what that means. It means you have more time to work a second job; you will have to if you ever want new curtains, meat more than twice a month or a phone that’s not still attached to the wall with a cord.
And gee, here’s another bonus; your health gets to head right over to the gutter. When I am jerked from sleep just once, heart pounding, about to pee my pants as a clap of thunder crashes outside my window then the rest of the night is pretty much a no sleep zone of anxiety and nerves.
Now, do that 5 to 12 times a night. Sounds like fun huh? Wake up to a blaring alarm and get fully dressed and onto a truck and out in public in ninety seconds.
I couldn’t get to the toilet in my pajamas from dead sleep to wake in ninety seconds much less to a place where I might have to save someone’s life.
I’m not saying fire fighters should be paid a mint. I am not saying firefighter’s families shouldn’t cut coupons, or share one car or mow our own lawns but when you can barely cover the mortgage with your paycheck something’s real wrong.
I don’t know any fireman that’s in it for the money. I don’t know many that are in it for the hours so I guess there’s not much reason else to take the job, besides that little one where they want to fight fires and save lives and while I’m on the subject, let’s include teachers and police men and soldiers. We don’t show that we value service positions such as these that are so important and benefit our community immensely when done well but WE DO pay people who carry a football more than an entire station of firefighters or a school full of teachers.
That makes sense.
It’s a crying burning blazing shame that firefighters aren’t more valued then they are but no paycheck no matter how measly would keep my husband from the job he loves and that old saying about “you get what you pay for” isn’t true because the next time your house is on fire I guarantee you, you are going to think they are worth there weight in gold.
About Rebecca Suder