I’m not going to lie, I was terrified my first time.
I could feel the sweat start to accumulate under my helmet, as I assessed within seconds, my opponent. It was hues of red and orange, claiming a two-story house, licking at the interior and bursting its way through the outside.
My heartbeat drowned out the background, the crackling of wood, the thundering splinter as walls began to cease to exist, accompanied by the shouting of men racing around.
I took the five‑inch hose within my hands, relieving the nozzle, and felt the surge of power flow through as I began to fight the fire.
As of 2007, there were 1,148,800 firefighters serving the United States of America, according to the U.S. Fire Administration.
Of those 1,148,800, an estimated 35, 000 to 40,000 are women. I am a statistic.
I joined the Palm Coast Department as a fire explorer when I turned 14, following in my father’s footsteps, who was a firefighter since the late 1980s.
Firefighting was an overwhelming experience for me at first; there was so much science to what needed to be done.
Firefighters go through extensive training and there was so much equipment to learn.
Most people don’t know that firefighters actually go to class to learn how to use ladders, use equipment off trucks, and how to fight fires.
Ever been in a fire simulator? Try wearing bunker gear, with a 20‑pound tank on your back, crawling through a window. Then crawl in a maze of steel as thick smoke blankets and forfeits your right to see your way through.
Navigating your way through a maze and fight a fire that never quits, like a trick candle, just to be able to make it through.
Or grasping the Jaws of Life, slashing through metal and glass as you simulate an accident with a dummy inside knowing that, one day, a real human life will be depending on your extrication skills.
And that’s just the practice, because all firefighters practice for the big day when someone will be depending on that new knowledge and those skills to save their house, rescue them after a head‑on accident, or put out the fire that consumes their backyard.
The fire department that I serve on, like 87 percent of other fire departments in the United States, is volunteer. Truce, it’s a combination of both volunteer and career.
That means that the firefighter that shows up to your house has likely left her/his family in the middle of night, during dinner or family gathering for no money.
But it’s not the glory that keeps a woman or man up until two in the morning on a fire call just to go to bed and wake up to get ready for work at 5 a.m.
It’s the duty and call for those who feel the sense of fulfillment clasping buttons and strapping on a helmet inside a blaring fire truck, looking for an address, a flame, any signal as to wear distress has been established.
But firefighting isn’t just physical strength and agility; it’s the ability to emotionally prepare you for each task.
You watch families cling together, watching the walls that once protected them deteriorate in minutes, every photo turned to ashes, family heirlooms, the hard-earned money in the shape of what once was a couch.
You deal with the fatalities, understanding and barely accepting that it knows no age. You serve and protect your neighbors and friends, and hope that you’ll never be called to their house.
But, you answer to the call every time, because once you hear that tone, you can feel it in your bones, it’s like electricity.
Because, you know that it’s going to be hard, and you know it’s early in the morning, but it is because people depend on your strength, on your knowledge.
I hope this gives a voice to every firefighter, and I offer this as my support to all my sisters and brothers out there serving in a fire department.
So every time you see the sirens blare, I hope you pull over, and every time you see a truck with a light bar you thank that person, or respect them. And remember, we’re not super heroes; we can’t make fire calls in 10 seconds, and we can’t stop fires in a matter of minutes.
But we’ll give our all for you. I often think back to a sign that hangs on the officer’s door in my department back at home that reads, “I want to fulfill my calling and to give the best in me.”