When I was younger, I really wanted to be a firefighter. It was cliched, I know. Most youngsters at some point wanted the action figure life. To be that hero, you know.
And some wanted to be a superhero. Yeah, I was guilty of that fantasy too. But that was a story for another time.
So when I was watching out the window today and a fire truck drove by with its flashing lights, I was once again pulled into my linger dreams of a younger me.
Oh, how I wanted to drive that shiny red truck, wear the yellow hats and face down the flames of a roaring fire. I wanted to save the day, every day.
Part of me still did. Didn’t we all cling to at least a bit of the innocent dreams we spun before we understood the realities of those yearnings? The bit of us that hadn’t let go of who we thought we would be? Who we dreamed we would be?
But the other part of me, the more mature part, had come to realize the life of a firefighter was less of a hero and more of a saint. And I didn’t think I was that noble.
Here’s to the heroes and saints in every walk of life,
PS. By the way, did I ever tell you, my buddy and pal, Mercer from The Doggy Den, was a true-life drug dog? And then he trained to be a therapy dog. Now that was a superhero!
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