Earlier in my career, I made the mistake of thinking that being a firefighter was about me. I sometimes sat around the firehouse and wished for bad things to happen to other people because I was bored. I was completely overwhelmed with testosterone and adrenalin poisoning. I did stupid things, partially because back then stupidity was an entrenched part of firefighting culture, partially because I had the mistaken belief that I was going to live forever, and partially because I was selfish and immature. Then I got married, had children, got involved in non-firefighting aspects of my community, and became an instant environmentalist when I got into swiftwater rescue and had to swim in other people's trash and even their sewage. That helped me learn in very personal ways how important other people are to all of us.
Along the way, I figured out what military people in combat instinctively know - when you're fighting an enemy that can kill you in an instant, you may be fighting for a cause, you may be fighting to protect others, and you may be fighting a battle you don't really want to fight right now, but most importantly you are fighting for your buddies, because they are the ones who help you survive the battle.
That concept is based on more than just teamwork, although teamwork is the foundation. It's brotherhood and sisterhood, it's the "You go, we go" culture, it's always being there for each other, and it's knowing that we do a job that only a fraction of 1% of the other people on this planet can do.
Once I figured this out, I started to place a much higher value on my brother and sister firefighters. On the rare slow night at work, I'd sometimes sit alone on the tailboard with only my reflections for company. I'd think about the other firefighters and paramedics I knew, how much they meant to me, and what great friends they were. Then, sadly, I started losing them.
After three of my best friends died in separate LODD incidents and another died from work-acquired cancer, I realized that I had never told them how much I respected them and how much they meant to me. That caused more than a little personal anguish. I was eventually able to come to terms with it, but as part of the process, I determined that I would never again be guilty of that omission. That led to another problem - how do you compliment a fellow firefighter/paramedic/close friend without embarassing them and yourself? How can you tell someone how much they mean to you while keeping it within the bounds of sobriety on one hand, and professionalism on the other? More importantly, what is the highest compliment that you can give to one of your own?
Do you tell them that they are your hero? That term is overused, and might be taken as a joke. Even when taken in the spirit that it's intended, it can be profoundly embarassing for the person to whom the compliment is directed.
Do you tell them that you love them? That one is fraught with the potential for trips to the chief's office, Human Resources department investigations, or union grievances.
What do you tell them? How do you say it? What is the highest compliment you can give to another firefighter?
I eventually figured it out . It's simple, it's professional, it's a high compliment, and it conveys ocean-deep meaning.
The highest compliment that you can give another firefighter is "Anywhere I'd go, I'd go with you."
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