My friend is the Captain of 5 stations in the township. He and I discussed a moment of panic in my son's first in-house smoke training as lead man. What normally takes the average first timer a half hour to make it through the course, he did it in fifteen minutes. When he came home, he was visibly shaken, and didn't think he could go on. I explained that just as I caught him when he jumped out of the window, his team would never leave him behind. I also told him that if, after another week of classes, he decided to quit, that there would be no shame in it. I explained this to my buddy, and he said that there isn't a firefighter or rescue worker alive that doesn't suffer from PTSD. He spoke to my son via Facebook, and he gave my son confidence in himself.

My dad was a volunteer. During the Great Xenia Tornado in 1974, a call was put out for every available rescue units to come help. The first bodies he came across were of children the same age as my older brother and me. It was a memory that haunted him for years.

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1987 560SL
85,000 miles