When I was seventeen, eight years after the implied “don’t become a firefighter” I was given by teachers and classmates, the idea came back, stronger than before. I was in an old, oak office There was a hideously outdated computer, with dust all over the top of it. There were portraits of an old couple at a ski resort atop a massive oak desk. One half of the couple, an old, wrinkly, mousy woman, was sitting in a large black pleather chair. My transcripts were displayed on her computer. “What do you want to do? Do you have college plans?” “I don’t know,” I said, which, in retrospect, was not true. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, but not knowing about one’s own future seemed to be the obligatory state of mind during high school. Even the ones with direction have to give off the appearance of aimlessness. It’s part of the role we all play in high school. But, finally, to this old wrinkled mouse, I decided to come clean. I said it in as unsure a way as I could say something I so firmly believed in. “I kind of want to be a firefighter.” “Oh honey,” she said, as if I told her I wanted to be a third-rate Tennessee coke-whore. “Don’t do that.” “Why not?” “Well, you’re such a beautiful young girl. You can do anything you want.” I can do anything I want. I can do anything I want. I started boiling in that old oak room. I sat motionless, barely breathing, until my mouth finally opened like a drawbridge and I instinctively bellowed, “WELL I WANT TO BE A FUCKING FIREFIGHTER! That’s what I want, you old mousy hag.” I received a one day suspension. I only regret not adding something about her taking a sledgehammer to a young girl’s dreams. Eight years after that, 19 men, mostly from Saudi Arabia, hijacked four planes and crashed them into three very large buildings and a cornfield. The social image of firefighter, after these events, changed drastically. Firefighters no longer rescued kittens from large trees. They were no longer crazies who used any excuse possible to run into burning buildings. They were rugged, handsome, burly men. They carried axes. They were superheroes fighting their arch-nemesis, rubble. I was none of those things. I was a girl from Madison, Wisconsin who wanted to help people out, wanted to serve the community. After the buildings fell down, women across the country wanted to marry firefighters and men across the country wanted to become firefighters. Stations were full, waiting lists emerged, and people like me were left to reconsider their career options. I took odd jobs for the next two years, which brings me to now. The popularity of becoming a firefighter is waning and there are more openings now. I think I’ll start training. Possibly as a ‘fuck you’ to my third grade teacher or high school counselor. Or the hijackers. Or the social stereotypes that keep me from occupational freedom. But mostly because I just want to. And have for the last seventeen years. |