FiremedicSpud
01-09-2008, 01:02 AM
**This one is VERY special to me. I wrote it a few days following the devastating attacks which took place September 11th, 2001 and claimed the lives of 343 of my brothers.**
I was sitting on the front bumper of my fire engine. My elbow was on my knee, and my face was planted in the palm of my hand. My gaze was down to the concrete of the apron in front of the fire station. People were walking by, trying their best attempt to make life “normal” for themselves. My thoughts were that of my brother and sister emergency workers 3,000 miles away. The passing cars occasionally would slow down, honk or give me a “thumbs up”. It was needed and very much appreciated.
I didn’t at first pay attention to the family walking in front of the station. They looked like any other. A father, a mother and small child, all hand-in-hand, casually strolling along this warm and clear day. They passed by the fire station, barely a glance my direction. It didn’t bother me- people are reflecting back upon their lives in many ways given the circumstances. It was the young girl, walking between mom and dad who caught my attention. She had passed by and then stopped, letting go of her parents’ hands.
I watched her as she stooped over and picked something off the sidewalk. I couldn’t see what it was, but she was very intrigued, I could see. I saw her look at the object she had just picked up and then put it in her pocket. She then grabbed the hands of her mom and dad and started back down the sidewalk. Then she stopped, again. I saw her turn around and look in my direction. She pointed at me and began to talk to her parents. They were too far away to hear what was being said, but I could tell that little girl was speaking with all the conviction that a kindergarten-aged child could muster.
The family then turned around and began walking my way. My head came out of my hand and I sat up straight. My public servant smile lit up and I waited until they approached me before I said hello.
The little girl looked up at her father.
“Go ahead, Amanda. Ask him.” The dad said.
Amanda was a bit sheepish. She “wiggled” the way that little kids do when they are nervous. A light breeze blew her golden-blonde hair in front of her face, and she reached up to move it out of the way. Amanda took a deep breath and stepped towards me. Her big blue eyes gazed up into mine.
“Mommy told me last night that all the firemen were hurting really bad. She said you have friends who might not ever come home.”
“You’re mommy is right, Amanda.” Every firefighter is crying right now, “ I told her.
“But I don’t see any tears on you,” she said.
“My tears have been inside me for a few days now,” I replied. “But they are real tears.”
Amanda thought about this for a second. Then she did one of those cute things that kids do. It was one of those unique little gestures, which warm the heart: She put her hands on her hips of her overalls. She took a deep breath and then sighed. Then she reached into her right pocket.
Slowly and carefully, she produced a quarter. Twenty-five cents. It was what she had found on the sidewalk, just past the fire station. She held it up to me. I opened my hand and she placed it in the palm of my hand which just a few moments before, had held my sad-faced head.
“It made me happy to find this, maybe you can be happy, too.” Amanda said to me.
It took a moment for me to regain my composure. I couldn’t speak, for the words would come out too broken for a child to understand. Instead, I winked at her and gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder.
After a moment I whispered to her, “Thank you.”
Amanda said nothing. She stood there for a moment and then turned around. She made a beautiful “skip” back to her mother and father in one of those classic little girl moves.
I nodded in appreciation to her mother and father. They returned the gesture. The family then joined back up into formation. Mother on one side, father on the other, with Amanda holding the hand of each. They began to walk off. I watched them until they were out of sight.
I opened up the palm of my hand and looked at the quarter. It suddenly became an elegant piece of steel minted in 1997. It instantly became a treasure to my heart and soul.
Before that little girl found it, it was just another coin. A quarter. Just one of billions in circulation. However yesterday, it became a symbol of hope to me. A symbol of the goodness of mankind. That quarter now rests in my safe, where it will go with me to my grave.
Another thought occurred to me while lying in bed last night. Today, I acted upon that thought. I took the value of that quarter and multiplied it by 225. For our country is 225 years old. I wrote a check today to the NYC firefighters relief fund in the amount of $56.25.
I wrote on the check that it was from Amanda, to try and make you happy.
--spud--
I was sitting on the front bumper of my fire engine. My elbow was on my knee, and my face was planted in the palm of my hand. My gaze was down to the concrete of the apron in front of the fire station. People were walking by, trying their best attempt to make life “normal” for themselves. My thoughts were that of my brother and sister emergency workers 3,000 miles away. The passing cars occasionally would slow down, honk or give me a “thumbs up”. It was needed and very much appreciated.
I didn’t at first pay attention to the family walking in front of the station. They looked like any other. A father, a mother and small child, all hand-in-hand, casually strolling along this warm and clear day. They passed by the fire station, barely a glance my direction. It didn’t bother me- people are reflecting back upon their lives in many ways given the circumstances. It was the young girl, walking between mom and dad who caught my attention. She had passed by and then stopped, letting go of her parents’ hands.
I watched her as she stooped over and picked something off the sidewalk. I couldn’t see what it was, but she was very intrigued, I could see. I saw her look at the object she had just picked up and then put it in her pocket. She then grabbed the hands of her mom and dad and started back down the sidewalk. Then she stopped, again. I saw her turn around and look in my direction. She pointed at me and began to talk to her parents. They were too far away to hear what was being said, but I could tell that little girl was speaking with all the conviction that a kindergarten-aged child could muster.
The family then turned around and began walking my way. My head came out of my hand and I sat up straight. My public servant smile lit up and I waited until they approached me before I said hello.
The little girl looked up at her father.
“Go ahead, Amanda. Ask him.” The dad said.
Amanda was a bit sheepish. She “wiggled” the way that little kids do when they are nervous. A light breeze blew her golden-blonde hair in front of her face, and she reached up to move it out of the way. Amanda took a deep breath and stepped towards me. Her big blue eyes gazed up into mine.
“Mommy told me last night that all the firemen were hurting really bad. She said you have friends who might not ever come home.”
“You’re mommy is right, Amanda.” Every firefighter is crying right now, “ I told her.
“But I don’t see any tears on you,” she said.
“My tears have been inside me for a few days now,” I replied. “But they are real tears.”
Amanda thought about this for a second. Then she did one of those cute things that kids do. It was one of those unique little gestures, which warm the heart: She put her hands on her hips of her overalls. She took a deep breath and then sighed. Then she reached into her right pocket.
Slowly and carefully, she produced a quarter. Twenty-five cents. It was what she had found on the sidewalk, just past the fire station. She held it up to me. I opened my hand and she placed it in the palm of my hand which just a few moments before, had held my sad-faced head.
“It made me happy to find this, maybe you can be happy, too.” Amanda said to me.
It took a moment for me to regain my composure. I couldn’t speak, for the words would come out too broken for a child to understand. Instead, I winked at her and gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder.
After a moment I whispered to her, “Thank you.”
Amanda said nothing. She stood there for a moment and then turned around. She made a beautiful “skip” back to her mother and father in one of those classic little girl moves.
I nodded in appreciation to her mother and father. They returned the gesture. The family then joined back up into formation. Mother on one side, father on the other, with Amanda holding the hand of each. They began to walk off. I watched them until they were out of sight.
I opened up the palm of my hand and looked at the quarter. It suddenly became an elegant piece of steel minted in 1997. It instantly became a treasure to my heart and soul.
Before that little girl found it, it was just another coin. A quarter. Just one of billions in circulation. However yesterday, it became a symbol of hope to me. A symbol of the goodness of mankind. That quarter now rests in my safe, where it will go with me to my grave.
Another thought occurred to me while lying in bed last night. Today, I acted upon that thought. I took the value of that quarter and multiplied it by 225. For our country is 225 years old. I wrote a check today to the NYC firefighters relief fund in the amount of $56.25.
I wrote on the check that it was from Amanda, to try and make you happy.
--spud--