NOT A HERO

When you grow up with a firefighter for a dad, there are certain things that become "the norm".  The laundry room smells like smoke when he comes home along with his hair and the soot in his ears, there is a scanner that goes off all hours of the night in the basement, Easter is about the parade and Christmas time is about being picked up by the firetruck...riding on piles of lumpy hoses and getting treats from Santa Clause.  The blue Citation had a green light, that only the volunteers got so that when their pagers went off they could travel safely to the fire station to report to the call...but what happened to the rest of us that were in the car? We waited.
Some of my favorite memories are at a young age, so he must of been in his first few years in Seattle but his shift hit most of the holidays so we had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners at Station 2.  And at least 1 of them would be just the wives and kids because the men were called out.
Hill Park was for 3 legged races and hay stack hunts and orangecicle ice cream cups with wooden spoons (can you even call those things spoons?)  And there was the time that my dad was "command" for the weekend and I had to be at drivers ed at zero dark thirty...well, he used that little strobe thing to change the traffic light so I wasn't late (shhhh don't tell anyone) And the demented fact that my sister and I really only wanted to go with him when the radio said it was a "fully engulfed" structure fire or an injury accident.  Yeah, it's terrible and now I know that now but then all I knew is that's where most the action would be.

But it's not just the fun memories, it's the not so fond ones as well.  My dad had a home fire escape route, we all had a way out in case of fire but he would test us...yes by setting off the smoke alarms while we were sleeping, and yes, as an adult I can see where this is of benefit but it lent itself to years and years of me being a  paranoid kid that thought my house was going to burn down any day.  I would go to bed but then not be able to sleep until I checked the stove and checked the iron etc.  I remember in high school coming home to THAT look and then the dreaded sentence, "hey do you know so and so"  (insert name of someone that was just in a horrific accident that was my age that I may know)  And of course, I would much rather get that information from my dad then someone else!
As I got older a few things became more and more apparent to me and his job became more than just hunting for quarters in a pile of hay and bags full of peanuts and a tangerine on Christmas.  He was a volunteer in Snohomish but the Deputy Chief so in this small town everyone knew who he was and if you were a cute boy trying to be a firefighter you were either trying to get to know me because of that or afraid of me because of that. He was a Deputy Chief in Seattle too, and everything in between throughout the years and as I ventured out into the world discovered that the same thing goes in Seattle, although he was a much bigger deal  in Seattle the sentence would go something like this " YOUR dad is CHIEF MILLS?"  Like he had no first name or something!
My least favorite part about growing up with a firefighter for a dad was that I knew at a very early age that he may not come home.  That he may lose his life in the attempt to save someone else.
On January 5, 1995 four Seattle Fire Fighters lost their lives battling an arson fire in the Pang warehouse.  My dad knew them all and as a family we went to the memorial ceremony.  We stood with the mourning wives and mothers and children...and I selfishly thanked God it was not me as men marched down the streets playing bagpipes and hundreds upon hundreds of firefighters and firetrucks traveled through the streets of Seattle.
On September 11, 2001 my sister called early in the morning, she woke me up.. I don't even really remember the conversation, I just remember turning on the TV and staring.  In shock.  By this time my dad was not only a chief in Seattle but also a member of the Urban Search and Rescue Team through FEMA.  He had already gone across country when the Oklahoma City bombing occurred, and this was so much bigger. As we sat silently on the phone both listening to the same news channel... I knew we were both wondering what the other was afraid to ask.  Was our dad going to be asked to go?  Was our dad going to risk his life again to do his job?  The silence was broken, Nico said, "I asked dad if he was going to go."  Silence again. " He said there's a good chance."  I sobbed.  I sobbed that morning for the knowledge of what was happening there, I sobbed for the lives that were lost, and the ones that would be lost and I sobbed because I was so scared I would lose my dad this time too.
I didn't lose my dad, in fact he didn't have to go. or if you ask him he may say "get to"  because that's how it was.  My dad is retired now and he'll be the first to admit that fact.  "Hey dad did you hear about that huge fire?"  "Nope, I'm retired."

I am so proud of my dad.  I am so thankful for my dad.  I believe it takes something incredibly special in a person to sign up for and WANT to say, today I will put my life on the line for yours.  And it's not something that they turn off when they're not "on duty"  it's a way of life, it's just WHO they are.

I once told my dad that he was a hero, and he said , "No honey, I"m just doing my job."

That is what those 343 firefighters would say about 9-11.  They were just doing their job and for that we will all be forever grateful and will never forget!