The Fireman

He is the guy next door, a man's man with the memory of a little boy. He has never gotten over the excitement of engines, sirens, smoke, and danger. He is a guy like you and I, with wants, worries, and unfulfilled dreams, yet he stands taller than most of us. He is a fireman. He puts it all on the line when the bell rings. A fireman is at once the fortunate and least fortunate of all men. He is a man who saves lives, because he has seen so much death. He is a gentle man because he has seen the awesome power of violence out of control. He is responsive to a child's laughter, because his arms have held too many small bodies that will never laugh again. He is a man who appreciates the simple pleasures of life, hot coffee held in numb unbending fingers, a warm bed for bone and muscle compelled beyond feeling, the camaraderie of brave men, and the divine peace and selfless service of a job well done. He doesn't wear buttons, wave flags, or shout obscenities. When he marches, it's to honor a fallen comrade. He doesn't preach the brotherhood of man, he lives it!