歪歪漫画

My family frequented Chicago regularly when I was younger.

My mom grew up in a suburb of the Windy City. We鈥檇 make the trip to see extended family and her old friends every other summer. It鈥檚 a beautiful city with plenty to do, and I feel like I鈥檝e done most of it. Yet, one memory trumps all others.

When I was about 10 years old, my parents, sister and I were riding the L Train back from somewhere. As I鈥檝e gotten older, the details surrounding the train ride have mostly faded. But the moment that sticks out is as vivid as ever.

The train car was mostly empty. My mom and sister sat a few rows in front of my dad and me. I asked my dad about his upbringing 鈥� what it was like for him to grow up, where he went to college and why we were living in Brainerd. Over the last 30 years, he鈥檚 held several different positions that work with struggling kids. He鈥檚 also been a paid-on-call firefighter for the last 26 years.

One of the questions I asked my dad on that train ride was why he became a firefighter. It鈥檚 a brutal job to do that doesn鈥檛 exactly bring home boatloads of cash if you鈥檙e not full-time. It鈥檚 a lot of long nights, early mornings and canceled plans. There鈥檚 no rhyme or reason for when calls come in, only the hope of that call not being a false alarm.

On the train, my dad told me he felt compelled to help people. He said it felt like his calling to do what he could for people in need. But what he told me next will always put a pit in my stomach.

My dad tried to join the Navy after high school. However, due to a medical infringement, he was not admitted. He said it hurt, but it turned out to be one of the best days of his life. He went on to say that being a member of the Navy would鈥檝e kept him from meeting my mom, and he wouldn鈥檛 鈥渉ave the best kids a guy could ask for.鈥� His words, not mine.

That was a lot to take in at 10 years old, but it stuck with me. My dad went on to explain that becoming a firefighter and getting into his line of work with group homes was a great alternative, filling his need to help people.

Now, I鈥檓 27. In three weeks, my family and I will celebrate our last Father鈥檚 Day while my dad is a firefighter. He is retiring from the Brainerd Fire Department after 26 years, leaving his role as a battalion chief.

I鈥檓 not old, but I鈥檓 getting older. And one thing people don鈥檛 tell you about getting older is how much perspective you gain on stuff like this.

For all but nine months of my life, my dad has served his community alongside other selfless first responders. I鈥檝e heard him run out of the house in the middle of the night and come back before my alarm goes off. I鈥檝e seen him clench his pager in the middle of a movie theater or a hockey game, reluctantly leaving to give himself to other people.

I鈥檝e seen the emotional toll it takes on a person after he comes home from pulling a dead body out of a scorched house or car.

I don鈥檛 know what I鈥檓 going to get my dad for Father鈥檚 Day. He has enough hats, doesn鈥檛 wear ties often and won鈥檛 ask for anything. But while I think of what run-of-the-mill gift to get him, I hope he knows that I鈥檓 proud of him.

I鈥檓 proud of the sacrifices he made in his 26 years of fighting fires to get to this point. I鈥檓 proud of his dedication to his profession. I鈥檓 proud of the way he raised his family. But most importantly, I鈥檓 pretty dang proud of him for not getting into the Navy.

Jared Rubado is the sports editor at the Pioneer. Readers can reach him at (218) 316-2613 or jrubado@bemidjipioneer.com. Follow him on Twitter