A few weeks ago, I wrote a column for my newspaper about my grandfather, a retired acting district fire chief from Springfield, and how much I admire him. Today, I ran into a retired firefighter from Palmer who said he really enjoyed reading that column. That, in itself, was a wonderful sentiment to have heard; I love it when people can relate to what I write. Then he informed me that he was cleaning out his house recently and came across his helmet from his days on Ladder One (back before the town got its tower truck and firefighters had to actually climb the latter to access burning buildings).
"I want to give it to you," he said.
Blank stare. "What?"
"You'd appreciate it, I want you to have it," he repeated.
I couldn't believe it. Helmets are something that are typically passed down through generation. After retirement, firefighters often bestow their helmets on their sons or daughters, perhaps even their grandchildren. As ardently as I support my grandfather, I don't have possession of his helmet; my cousin Rob has it, I believe. The fact that this individual is offering to give me his helmet is... well, it's beyond words. Excited doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling at this moment.
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