Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

I don’t consider myself to be an emotional guy, although, the years, and to an extent, life,  have definitely softened me.  It’s not that I was ever hardened, or at least I don’t think I was.  I’m just definitely not one to wear emotion on my sleeve.

Part of that thick skin, I believe, is due to my experiences on the Fire Department.  I don’t think one would last for more than a day on the job if you let things really get to you.  You see too much.  Experience too much.  Pain, tragedy, loss, hurt, and then other times joy, relief and even humour; a spectrum of thoughts, sights, and emotions as vast as the clear blue sky.

For all the shows on television, there is only one – has only been one – that truly touches me each time I watch it.  In the span of 60 minutes my heart can break as the story begins and then leap as it ends.  My eyes can glisten with tears in one moment, and sparkle with joy in the next.  I ache from the depths of human tragedy and suffering, and then become inspired by a willingness and ability to move mountains that previously stood in the way of healing.

In my opinion, Extreme Makeover Home Edition is among the best that television has to offer simply for the fact that it’s not about me.  What I mean to say is, it’s not about self.  Television tends to be self oriented.  Game Shows about winning me big money.  Reality Shows about me winning a competition.  Sit-coms and Dramas about the pursuit of self gratification – success, wealth, sex – me… me… me.  Not me personally mind you, but me in the sense of self.

Extreme Makeover, on the other hand, is all about somebody else.  It’s about taking a tragedy, taking a loss, taking pain, taking struggles, and doing what otherwise may not be able to be done on our own.  Beating the odds.  It’s about families, friends, neighbours, and entire communities coming together for a common goal… to serve!  My heart warms just thinking about it.

I know the show has it’s critics, and I know some question it’s extravagance – though I believe it’s been toned down over the years – but all else aside, you can’t question the motives.  To change lives.  To help people.  To provide second chances.  To make the impossible, possible.  In it’s purest, simplest form… to serve.

Each week I watch the show and wish I could be a part of it.  What a joy it must be to volunteer with the show for a week.  This week, in the middle of a brutal Texas heat wave where the temperature never dropped below 100F, people kept their eye on the goal… to serve.  They cast aside their own comfort.  They worked through their own pain.  They gave their time, their effort, their energy, their blood, sweat and tears, and they did it, not for their own personal gain, but for somebody else.

This week at work somebody handed me the Future Shop flyer.  They know I enjoy browsing through it.  Wishful thinking mostly.  As the flyer was placed on the desk I joked that I shouldn’t be looking at it because it will just make me want to spend money.  The individuals response was, “well isn’t that why you work?  To make money so you can spend it on yourself?”

I thought a lot about that statement.  It made me a little sad, if I’m being honest, because it really is a reflection of the way so much of society thinks.  It’s all about me.  Things for me.  For my entertainment.  For my joy.  For my pleasure.  Sum up commom thinking in a single word… me.

It’s great to watch a show like Extreme Makeover Home Edition and be inspired.  We should be inspired!  But inspiration isn’t enough.  Thoughts are nice.  Words can be well meaning.  Actions, though, are real!  They’re love in motion.

I will likely never be on a team that builds a house in 7 days; but I could volunteer for Habitat For Humanity.  I will likely never solve world hunger; but I can make a donation to my local food bank.  I may never save a child from poverty; but I can sponsor one through World Vision.  I may never save a life; but I can touch one.

Do something this week for somebody else, with no expectation of return.  Do something that doesn’t invole “me”.

Last night when I went to bed, I did so still trying to decide what I was going to do today.  I’m not always the greatest at making decisions when it comes to my days off.  Often I come up with brilliant ideas, and many times, they remain in my head while I remain in bed… late… till noon… or sometimes… well… I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.  Lets just assume I never stay in bed past noon on my days off.

As it turned out, this morning I was jolted awake by my fire department pager.  I believe it was just after 8a.  To be honest, when it wakes me up, unless it’s still dark out, I never really bother to pay much attention to the time.  If the sun is shining, I just assume it’s sometime during the day.

When I got back from the call it was a little after 9a.  Part of me, I will not say whether it was large or small, really wanted to climb back into bed.  As one who suffers from bouts of insomnia, I just try and take sleep whenever I can get it.  It has nothing to do with being lazy.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

As I stood in my room, feeling almost magnetically or cosmically or, perhaps just willingly, drawn to my bed, I made a decision.  I was already up, it was my day off, so why not do something random and fun.  I do enjoy doing such things from time to time, though I confess, I don’t do them as often as a single guy as I did when I had someone to share my adventures with.  Nevertheless, my mind was made up that an adventure was in order.  I grabbed my camera, I grabbed my iPod, and I went to my truck.

Huntsville, and the area around it, is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful places in Ontario.  I spent many summer vacations camping there.  I also know all the good spots to hit!  If you want ice cream… I’ve got a place.  If you’re into baked goods… I’ve got a place.  Looking for a little Christmas spirit on a sunny summer day… I’ve got a place.  Looking for a hike in the wilderness… I’ve got all kinds of places!  Huntsville ended up being my destination for a spontaneous road trip.

The toughest part of my random road trip was deciding which places I would hit.  With only a day at my disposal, I wouldn’t be able to take in everything I enjoy doing there.  I was going to have to be selective.  I had a near 4 hour drive to figure it out as well.

Once I got there, I stopped into a few shops I like to browse in.  I hit the bakery, one of the greatest I’ve ever experienced and bought a number of various and assorted treats.  I also went to Ragged Falls, which is one of my favorite sights to see.  When I was done, I turned around, detoured through Shelburne to drop off some baked goods for my dad, who was spending his weekend there, and then I made my way home.

I really needed to get away today.  I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.  Some pretty big things.  Life altering things.  Ideas and dreams and questions.  When I need to do some serious thinking, I always enjoy a good drive.  There is nothing to distract me.  No fire calls.  No TV.  No computer.  It’s just me and the road and God in the passenger seat.  What could be better?  Well, maybe me and the road and the love of my life in the passenger seat, but there will still be room for God… my truck seats five!  That will come one day, or so I like to tell myself anyway.

All told, in just under 12 hours, I drove well over 700km’s and mostly, I did it for an amazing double chocolate cookie.  It seems ridiculous.  I mean, a full day, probably about $75 in gas, all those kilometers on my truck, and for what?  A double chocolate cookie and a little bit of thinking!

My truck turned over 222,222km’s on my road trip today.  I took a picture of this milestone and posted it on my Twitter page.  Not long after doing that one of my “Tweeps” sent me the following reply… “222 – This is a sign of confirmation that you are on the right path, doing the right thing and going in the right direction.” When I read that, I had to smile.  What a timely and relevant word, considering the reason for my spontaneous road trip in the first place.

I’m not a guy that’s big into superstitions and hocus pocus and all that jazz.  I don’t know if the “222″ thing is numerology or fortune cookie or an entirely random and imagined fact said in the moment for the sake of having something to say.  Honestly though, it doesn’t matter.  My spontaneous road trip wasn’t just about a journey to a destination, it was about a journey for confirmation; confirmation that I may have found when the odometer hit 222,222.

As a self diagnosed over-thinker, I often find myself asking myself a lot of questions that I’ll probably never get the answers to.  Sometimes, I’m not entirely sure if there even are answers to them.  One of these days, perhaps, I’ll just accept that some things simply are, and that is really all the explanation necessary.

I started my day today by asking why in the world morning has to come so early.  More specifically, I was asking why in the world I agreed to participate in an event that would see me getting out of bed at 8a on a Saturday, my day off.  I know what you’re thinking, I’m a whiner.  Everybody gets out of bed at 8a.  OK.  Fair enough.  Give me this much though, I’m an insomniac.  I need to take sleep when I can get it.  I can’t get it, if I’m setting alarm clocks and waking myself up!

It took me nearly an hour to feel like I was even in my body.  After a long shower, face contact with a door frame, a cracked shin on the sharp corner of my bed, and a stubbed toe on my weight bench, which is actually more of a clothes hanging device than it is a weight bench, I was somewhat coherent.

I drove to work and listened to a few of my favorite songs, and tried to get myself pumped.  Well, I tried to get myself awake anyway.  Baby steps, you know.  During the drive, I started asking another question.  Why does it have to rain?

I was on my way to a car wash.  It was a big deal too.  A national event raising money for Cystic Fibrosis research and treatment.  The sponsor, CarStar, was also hoping to set a Guinness World Record by washing 4000 cars, nationally, in 8 hours.  I was going with the radio station to host a 4 hour remote from the location in Brantford.  We were hoping to really hype it up and get lots of people out.  I’m all about raising money for great causes, but as I watched the rain fall from the dark skies above, I wasn’t feeling very good about the event.

When I pulled into the radio station parking lot, I asked another question.  Why did my pager have to go off!  Not 10 seconds after I got into the parking lot, I got a fire call for a possible structure fire.  Any other Saturday and I would have been home for it.  Because I was doing this car wash in the rain, I was missing it!  That is always depressing for me, because I love being a firefighter.  The thing is, it’s kind of hard to be one when you’re missing the call.

So here it was, 9:30 in the morning, and my obsessive question asking, over-thinking habit, had already given me a bad attitude without even realizing it.  Early morning, little sleep, rain – with no end in sight, and now I’m missing a possible structure fire.  I was convincing myself, unintentionally, that today was going to suck.

When I arrived at the event I was introduced to the owners of the location, and met a couple of the people responsible for helping with the event.  A group of students from St. John’s College, and a group of people from Participation House, were giving up their Saturday to volunteer for this event.  They were the ones that would be washing cars in the rain, while I watched from inside.  Suddenly, I was feeling a little convicted about my bad attitude.

As the morning progressed, I witnessed something amazing.  I watched a group of probably 30 people, standing outside in non stop rain, washing cars with smiles on their faces, and genuinely having a great time!  If you can’t beat it, join it, I said during one of my cut-ins on the air.  That’s what these people were doing.  The rain was soaking them anyway, so why not have some fun?  Water fights were happening everywhere.  Water balloons were being tossed, covert attacks were being launched, and the garden hose become a tool for battle domination!

The volunteers were laughing, dancing and singing in the rain.  Not just one or two of them either.  All of them.  They were just having fun!  While I was thinking the event was going to tank because people wouldn’t come and get their car washed in the rain, and as a result, very little money would be raised, they were out there living in the moment.  They were taking control of their circumstances instead of letting their circumstances take control of them.  It was a humbling sight, and a beautiful sight!

I tried as hard as I have ever tried on air today.  I wanted to be great for them.  Because of them!  I wanted to have flawless breaks.  I wanted to paint an accurate picture of this incredible experience that was unfolding before my eyes.  I wanted everybody listening to the radio today to come and see it for themselves, and maybe, just maybe, catch some of the joy that I did.  And you know what?  People did come!  Lots of people.  They honked their horns as they drove by.  They got their cars washed in the rain.  And they ate hamburgers… glorious hamburgers!

When the sun came out 15 minutes before the end of the event, after raining non stop since the morning, most of us just laughed.  When I got in my truck to drive home, I started thinking.  Maybe that sunshine was a smile from God.  Nobody questioned Him for the rain.  Nobody even complained.  They just washed cars, and sang and danced in the rain.  I bet that made Him happy, and I think that’s why He smiled.

I was asked an interesting question the other day.  “If you could have 3 wishes what would they be?”  It’s not an uncommon question I suppose.  No doubt it’s something we’ve all pondered a time or two.  I mean, Aladdin is one of my favorite Disney movies.  It just seemed an odd question at the time.  Far more reaching than an impersonal discussion about the weather or the Blue Jays or the Stanley Cup Finals.

I couldn’t offer an immediate answer.  I decided such a question was too important to simply respond to off the cuff.  Although such an occurrence is unlikely to ever happen, truth be told, I own no lamp for a genie to even inhabit, I wanted to make sure I was prepared with a solid answer.  You know.  Just in case.

After a great deal of thought, and there may or may not have been a list written on paper – I’ll never tell – I decided I had come up with my 3 wishes and 1 solid alternate.  I give them to you now.

I was so excited about getting married.  A wife.  A house.  A dog.  Eventually some kids.  I wanted it all.  I was ready for it all.  I nearly got there.  Then one day a delivery came, and inside the envelope was a notice of divorce.  The dream died that day.  In that moment.  It took a long time before I ever even questioned if it could be possible again.  Some days, I still question it.

My first wish would be for a second chance at love.  I’d wish for a woman that I’d be crazy about today, tomorrow, and everyday we had together until all our days were behind and no more lied ahead.  Together we’d have a house and I’d fix it.  I’d probably yell at it from time to time, and I may even throw things at it on occasion, though when nobody was watching, but it would be our house.  Our home.  We’d fill it with a dog and children, and possibly some fish.  I dare not say how many children though.  God has a funny way about these things.  Tell Him you want 1 and the next thing you know you’re expecting triplets.  I just want kids.  I’ll take however many He’s willing to give.

A wish, or one day a reality?  Either way, I hold onto this one with great hope.

Since I was about 10 years old, or at least, somewhere in the general vicinity of that age, I’ve dreamed about being on the radio.  The soft glow of the digital display on my Sanyo stereo was a constant companion to me.  It sat on a shelf hung right at the head of my bed.  The speakers were tucked away neatly inside the headboard, and played all my favorite songs right into the back of my pillow as I lay dreaming.

I remember making my own “radio station” with an old tape recorder.  I’d mix the songs together, and record intros and weather forecasts for them in between.  Even at that young age I seemingly understood that half my future career in radio would be giving weather reports!  I bet if I looked hard enough, one or two of those tapes may still exist somewhere.

Since those days of my childhood, creating my own radio stations, I’ve had a dream that one day I’d do it for real.  I had visions of programming a great Christian radio station.  I still have those same visions, although they’ve morphed over the years as my skill and knowledge has developed.  My dream now involves creating a station like no other, and using it as a model to build a network of stations right across the country.  That, however, is another blog for another day.

My second wish, would be for this dream to come true.  It would be that somehow, God would bring me the resources I needed to make this dream a reality.  That would be an incredible wish!

Firefighters only save people in the movies.  OK, so that’s not really true.  It seems it though.  I’ve watched Backdraft and Ladder 49 hundreds of times probably.  I’ve just never done anything like they do in those movies.  10 years on the fire department.  No saves.  Sure I’ve gone into burning buildings, and I’ve extricated people from the wreckage of an M.V.C. but I’ve never had a save.

Truth be told, I’ve mostly experienced loss.  I don’t know a worse or more helpless feeling than watching the final grains of sand trickle through the hourglass of life while your hands are doing compressions on a persons chest.  It’s an awful feeling.

I keep answering the call though.  No matter the loss.  No matter the emotional stress.  I will keep answering the call.  The next one might be the one, I tell myself.  Not because I have a hero complex.  You just do it because you know you might be able to help someone.  That is motivation enough.  That is why I joined the fire department in the first place.

My third wish would be to make a save.  One save.  To race through a house, flames licking at my heels, heat wrapping around my body and squeezing the life out it, seeing the safe exit, a whole different world just on the other side of that door.  When I rush through it, into a different kind of light, the inviting light of sun versus the threatening light of flame, I emerge with a child pulled tighly to my body, protected by my arms, safe in my hands.

I wish for the chance to replace all the memories of the ones I couldn’t save, with just one that I did.

Finally, an alternate.  In the event that any of my 3 above wishes should come true before I am extended the chance to make 3 wishes, I thought it prudent to have a contingency wish.  The proverbial back-up plan.  This one, I shall spare detail as it will only cause embarrasment and ridicule.  Not that I’m ashamed of it mind you.  Just that I know others will find it amusing.  Simply put… I’d wish for the chance to be a bass singer in a Southern Gospel Quartet and share the stage with the likes of Ernie Haase and Signature Sound or the Gaither Vocal Band.  An unusual desire perhaps, but one that is shared with sincerity equal to the rest!

There are a lot of things about being a Firefighter that are tough.  Without much thought or imagination I’m sure you could come up with a list as long as your arm.  You don’t need to do the job to understand the pressure, the danger, the challenges.

Physical, mental, emotional.  They are all there.  Walk around with an SCBA on for an hour or two, and your shoulders start to tense up and your back begins to ache, I don’t care how fit you are.  Stand in front of a roaring fire for 20 minutes and you feel like your body is burning inside a swimming pool.  It’s an odd sensation.  You’re soaked to the bone inside your gear from sweat, but at the same time you feel like you’re on fire yourself.

From time to time on the Fire Department, you’re going to see things that nobody should ever have to see.  It will often come in the form a motor vehicle collision, but not always.  Images that burn into your head like a photograph taken with the camera of your mind.  They never really go away.  One night you close your eyes, and the images will just appear, like they’ve been recorded on the backs of your eyelids.

Death is part of the job.  You don’t really realize how much until you’ve done it for a while.  That brings with it a whole different dynamic of stress.  You’ll be questioning if there is more you could have done, or something you could have done differently.  At the same time, you can find yourself trying to comfort a family member who is now in an emotional spiral set into motion by their loss.

I can’t stand sleeping with my socks on.  If my feet are too warm, I simply don’t sleep.  I like to sleep with my socks off, and my feet outside the covers to stay cool.  If my feet are cool, my sleep is sound.  If my feet are warm, there is either no sleep or restless sleep.

When I get woke up in the middle of the night to the pager, I’m completely incoherent for at least a minute or so.  I sometimes don’t know who I am, where I am, and what that infernal beeping is that’s waking me up.  Yet, instinctively, I always find myself getting dressed.  Usually about the time I’m pulling my t-shirt over my head, I have figured out what’s going on.

No matter how hard I try, there is one thing I struggle with more than anything during middle of the night fire calls.  My socks!  I can never seem to put my socks on when I’m woke from a deep sleep.  Pants are easy.  The holes are bigger.  Shirts, same deal, though I’ve stuck my head through a sleeve a time or two.  Socks though, I just can’t get.

Believe it or not, there was an incident once that involved a rather painful tumble down the stairs because of my socks.  I don’t know exactly what I was doing, but apparently I was trying to put my socks on while heading down the stairs.  It didn’t work out so well for me.  I told you… it takes me a bit to wake up!

One of the toughest things for me since then, is adapting to a life that involves sleeping with my socks on.  It just seems to be a safer alternative.  It also makes me appreciate nights out of town that much more because they are the only nights I can sleep sock free!

I don’t have children, though, I’ve had limited experience with them.  Mostly, it’s been through the fire department.  At my old station, I used to love doing fire prevention events with the kids.  It reminded me of what I was like when I was a kid, always wanting to be on the fire truck or wearing the equipment.

During these various functions I learned that for kids, there are no answers, there are only questions.  “What’s this?” “It’s a fire hose.”  “What does it do?”  “It sprays the water.”  “Where does the water come from?”  “It comes from the fire truck.”  “How does it come from the fire truck?”

No matter the number of answers you would give, a child always seems to have an uncanny ability to find, yet another question!  They just don’t seem to be content with an answer.  They always need, and want, to know more.

I find myself at an interesting point in my life.  At 30, I have acheived both personal and professional dreams, and, sadly, I’ve seen them both fade away.  Often, I have to stop and remind myself that I am only 30 and it’s OK.  I sometimes forget that I started my career at 17.  Having not achieved everything by 30 doesn’t mean I’m a failure, as many people are only getting started at 30.  It comes as little consolation to me at times, but I remind myself of it nevertheless.

I haven’t blogged much this week, perhaps you’ve noticed.  I hadn’t hardly missed a day since I started this back in January, but this week I’ve definitely been slacking.  The reason for that is because I’ve been spending a lot of time looking for answers.

I don’t mean to sound like I’m at some major crossroads, though, I’m not ruling that out.  I would like to believe that I am still too young to be experiencing a mid-life crisis, though, I’d certainly see a sports car as a solution to at least one or two of my problems.  But I’ve definitely been taking some time to look for answers.

The harder I looked for answers this week, the more I kept remembering those fire prevention experiences.  I’d get an image in my mind of a child, standing tip-toed to cross the three foot mark.  He was standing in my bunker pants, my boots nearly as long as his legs.  The bright red suspenders are pulled up over his shoulders, though even they can’t keep the pants hiked up on his tiny little frame.  He throws my coat on and can’t even get his hands to come out the ends of the sleeves.  When he places my helmet on his head, it swallows him.  Somewhere, inside the yellow dome is the face of a child.  He attempts to walk, but with each step the weight of the gear nearly sends him toppling to the ground.  He pays it no mind.  He’s a firefighter, if only in make believe.  As he tries to wade around the sea of grass and snaking lines of fire hose, he asks questions.  With each answer comes a new question.  There is no end until time dictates that we pack the trucks and head for home.

This week one question has come into my head more than any other.  Are there answers?  That’s what I’ve been reflecting on, tossing it back and forth in my mind over and over.  Is life about answers, or is it just about a journey filled with questions?  Are we on a quest to a destination of absolute?  Or are we moving through a sea of questions, the complexity of which are like the waves.  Some bigger.  Some stronger.  Some smaller.  Some easier.

A child is seldom content to rest when an aswer has been offered.  They keep pressing, searching, wondering.  Could this be what Jesus was referring to when he spoke of child-like faith?  Perhaps the point is not to find or know the answers.  Maybe I’m supposed to just have faith in the journey, with each question being another dot on my map.

One of the most common questions I’m asked when people find out I’m a Firefighter, besides “have you rescued a cat,” (refer to this blog No Glove… No Love!) is, “is there a pole in your fire station?”

The answer to that question, sadly, is no.  As much as I wish there was, and as much fun as it would be to slide down it each time a call comes in, that isn’t how it works in a volunteer station.  I carry a pager.  I could be anywhere, doing anything when the call comes in.  I’ve had to get up and leave in the middle of a haircut.  I’ve had to leave in the middle of church.  I’ve run out of family dinners, grocery shopping, and the shower.  Often, I get woke up in the middle of the night.  When you do this volunteer, you’re on call 24/7.

Today I was on the couch.  A relaxing Sunday afternoon.  I was planning on getting in a good power nap during the NASCAR Pre-Race Show and waking up just in time for the green flag.  My plan was right on track too.  I was sound asleep, not more than 5 minutes into a solid slumber when the pager went off.  As is my routine, I grab my pager, grab my wallet, grab my keys, and start running to the fire hall.  Thankfully, I don’t live far away  It would be pretty embarrassing to be winded from the run to the hall and not have enough energy left to get on the truck!

I’ve recently lost about 20lbs.  I’ve worked hard at it.  I didn’t necessarily need to lose a lot of weight as much as I needed to bring some of what I had under control.  Being a single guy, I have come to understand that the ladies aren’t necessarily attracted to large flaps of skin hanging over your belt.  That’s not to say that some don’t love it.  I’m sure they do.  It would just seem they are the minority!

With this in mind, and the hopes of getting myself into shape; a shape other than a pear, I started working out.  It’s really been working too.  In fact, I recently had to go out and buy all new jeans a size smaller.

Splash pants are the wardrobe of choice on lazy Sunday afternoons.  Comfy, loose, perfect.  Today I was wearing a pair I haven’t had on in a while.  For sleeping on the couch, they fit great.  For running to the fire hall, as I came to learn, perhaps not so much.

My wallet is heavy.  Not because it’s filled with cash mind you.  It’s just a big, bulky wallet.  It’s a guy thing I think.  All guys seem to have thick, ridiculous wallets.  With mine in my back pocket, and my newly shrunk waist, I made it almost to the end of the hallway in my apartment building before my pants were halfway to my ankles!

Moments like these are funny, if your perspective in life is to laugh at the stupid things.  Of course, the amount of humor involved is usually dictated by the size of the audience in view.  No audience… very funny.  Audience… very embarrassing!

I came through the door to the stairwell at a slowed pace.  My left hand, outstretched to open the door.  My right hand, reaching for the waist of my pants, holding on for dear life and reefing them back into position.  At the same moment as I came through the door, an elderly lady was stepping off the flight of stairs on the other side.

I assure you that I was not getting fresh with her.  Single or not… I have morals and standards that I daily try to uphold.  Dropping my drawers for senior citizens does not fall into either of those categories.  So my intention was never for this poor dear to see, and inform me, that my boxers were blue!  All I can say is I hope she enjoyed the show, and as a result, I hope she doesn’t sue!

I’m glad I lost my 20lbs.  But next time, I’m tying the drawstring!

I don’t recall to many of my birthday’s.  There have been 30.  For many of them I was working and they simply passed as any other day.  Time marches on, the calendar turns a page.  It’s of little importance to me.  Certainly everyone remembers their 16th, or at least those of us in Ontario do.  That was the day I went and got my Learner’s Permit to be able to drive.

I remember my 30th.  It was only a few months ago.  I slept in half the day, woke up, baked myself a cake, and then ate it while watching Fred & Ginger movies on the couch.  That was a pretty solid day.  I should note, that while I did indeed eat the whole cake, I didn’t eat it all that day.  I tried to pace myself a little.  I’m not a complete glutton.

Perhaps, though, the most memorable of all was my 22.  In the week leading up to, and following my 22nd birthday, I got the greatest gift I could’ve hoped for.  Two days before my 22nd birthday, I got accepted onto the Fire Department.  It was an opportunity I had worked and waited for, for three years.  No better gift could I have received.

I was sitting in my room one night, I still lived with Dad at the time, watching TV.  I don’t recall what I was watching, it was probably nothing great.  In the midst of the show a thundering bang echoed through the chambers of the upstairs hallway.  Dad was beating on the wall.  He is not a crazed lunatic, it was just the easiest way for him to get my attention when I was watching TV.

I came to the top of the stairs to find out what he wanted and he told me to get dressed and get ready.  The Fire Station in the neighbouring town had just been paged out for a structure fire and it was more than likely that we were getting called in next.  This was going to be it.  My first structure fire!  Much of what took place in the moments that followed is a blur to me.

Dad and I responded to our Station; he is now retired, but served for 33 years.  We geared up, got in the Pump and we were on our way.  My first structure fire… holy crap!

We arrived on the scene of a large fire which had spread among a barn and some greenhouses.  The guys that were with us were dropped off at the scene and Dad and I were instructed to take the Pump one concession south.  Our job was to fill Tankers from small creek that ran nearby.  Part of me couldn’t believe I was driving away from the action, although, being a rookie, I understood.  The other part of me was riding in a Fire Truck with Dad; and this time not just in a parade!

We went and got set up, and what took place next made me want to cry.  Something inside our Pump broke.  As a result, we couldn’t fill Tankers and there was no use for us to be on scene.  The truck needed to be returned to the hall and we needed to find a way to fix it.  Now, not only had I driven away from the flames, but I was about to drive away from the scene entirely!  This was NOT how I saw my first structure fire going!

Once we were back at the hall, I probably moped around and whined a bit, I don’t recall for sure, but that is likely what I did.  Guys worked at trying to diagnose and repair the problem with the Pump.  Then it happened.  A second chance!  One of the Officers pulled up and offered to take me back to the scene with him. Thank you Captain Mitchell!!!

Much time had passed when we returned to the scene.  The bulk of the fire was knocked down, but I didn’t care.  I was still there, and this time around, I was going to play.  I was assigned to a sector and an officer, and, being the Probie, I was given instructions to stay close by and not doing anything stupid.  I agreed to comply.  I would’ve agreed to anything at that point!  I just wanted to get my gear dirty!  Little did I know how dirty it was about to become!

I was assigned to run a deluge gun.  It’s a master stream device that delivers a lot of water in a hurry.  My objective, keep the hydraulic lines of an excavator tearing apart the wreckage of the structure cool.  It seemed easy enough.  All I cared about was in that moment, I become a Firefighter!

I spent hours, I don’t even recall how many, standing knee deep in a manure pile, in the middle of a torrential rain and lightning storm, thinking if lightning strikes and I’m working this deluge gun, I’m going to die.  I didn’t rescue any children.  I didn’t run into a burning building.  I did nothing heroic, nothing like you’ve seen in the movies.  I just waded through a heap of crap and sprayed some water.  Yet, it was the greatest birthday I’ve had yet!

I was talking with someone the other day about the Fire Department.  More specifically, they were asking me about some of my stories.  Having been on for 9 years now, I’ve got a few stories to tell.  They cover the spectrum as well.  The good to the bad, the happy to the sad, the intense to the downright hilarious.

I recall one particular day when a call came in for “a tractor over the embankment, man trapped.”  Living along the north shore of Lake Erie, it was easy enough to imagine such an event.  Many of the houses on the lakeshore had steep drops to the water and sand below.

As we geared up in the back of the truck, responding to the scene, we began to discuss strategies.  Really, we had very little info to go on.  A tractor, for example, could be a lot of different things.  There are a number of farms along the lake, then there is always construction equipment such as a front end loader.  It was kind of hard to plan without knowing exactly what we were about to face.

While you’re riding, you begin to prepare yourself mentally, and physically, or at least, I do.  I start to think about what I may see, what I may hear, what sort of obstacles I may face.  I think about equipment, training, operating procedures and possible unknowns as well.  I want to be ready for anything.  On a call like this, the reality is, what we could potentially face could be unpleasant.  Simply take a moment to reflect on the dispatch.  ”Tractor over the embankment, man trapped.”  It doesn’t take long to start visualizing potential scenes.

When we pulled up to the address, what we faced wasn’t even remotely close to what we were preparing for.  We found a gentleman, sitting in a lawn chair, drinking a beer with his buddy.  He was mowing his lawn, got a little to close to the edge, and rolled his riding lawn mower, which ultimately landed on his leg.  I think it’s safe to say that we all simultaneously breathed a great sigh of relief, and then had a good laugh!

As I thought about this call, I couldn’t help but think about communication in general, and how easy it can be to lose messages and meaning in interpretation.  How many times have you sent somebody an email, wrote on somebody’s Facebook wall, or sent somebody a text message and had them take it entirely the wrong way?

It’s amazing what a difference traditional communication can make over digital at times.  A facial expression can convey a feeling.  Vocal inflection can articulate a meaning.  A laugh, or a tear can reveal an emotion.  All of these things can be lost, or missed, in many forms of digital communication.

It’s ironic, to me, how much I rely on digital communication, and, how comfortable I’ve become with it.  As somebody who makes a living communicating with his voice, who better than I, to understand the limitations of an email or a text message over a phone call or a face to face conversation.  Communication is what I do.  Delivering messages, expressing emotion, painting visual pictures through the thoughtful craftsmanship of words and inflection.

I’ve often wondered even with my little blogs, how differently they would be received by you if I were to post them as podcast, versus posting them as text.  If you could actually hear me tell the story, would it mean something different to you?  I suspect that it would.

I’ve recently met somebody who is encouraging me, whether they are aware of it or not, to expand my borders of communication.  I’ve always been content, and comfortable, to send an email.  There is certainly something to be said about the convenience of a text or a “tweet” or a Facebook post.  That being said, there is truly something more personal and meaningful about a phone call.

If I were to be perfectly honest, there is a romance about it.  I liken it to the difference between a handwritten letter and a typed one.  The time and care that goes into a handwritten letter speaks a message of it’s own that goes beyond the words penned.  In the same way, the way you speak, the words you choose, the manner in which you articulate, in a conversation brings about a life that would otherwise be lost on paper.

The next time you plan to make contact with friend or family, I’d like to encourage to turn off the computer and pick up the phone.  If time and distance permit, pay them a visit.  Meet somewhere for coffee.  Have a conversation with them where you can walk away knowing that nothing got lost in translation.