In preparation for our annual house inspection at the firehouse, we are stripping and waxing the floors. I am reminded of a day over three decades ago: I was a very young produce clerk at Kroger. My father comes in to buy groceries for fire station #14 just down the street where he is assigned.
I am so proud to see him in his uniform and for him to see me working my first "real" job, but a little embarrassed that he happens in while I am mopping the floor.
"Ah, nothin' wrong with that," he tells me, "It's part of my job too. I've been mopping floors everyday at the firehouse for over 30 years!"
..and now, so have I.
My son wants to follow our family tradition and be a firefighter too. He'll be fourth generation, maybe I should warn him? ;)
