The busiest time of year for all these, volunteer firefighters, is on New Years, and they had to, give up the gathering at supper, and be out on call at any moment there's an, emergency in their, neighborhoods, the dedication of these people are truly, amazing…translated…
Pop's Ears, Seemed to Have, Gotten, Distracted to a Couple of Streets Away, Where the Alarms Came, Sounding………
On New Year's Eve, mom finally took her, apron off, and, we'd all, filled up the table. The family all, stared at, the table's worth of wonderfully prepared dishes, waiting for the matriarch and patriarch to get the very first piece, then, the show of family gathering would be, on its, way.
But, pops had, dropped his, chopsticks abruptly, then, ran, off.
"He's ringing the gong!", mom told us.
I'd asked around the tables, and nobody else heard a single, noise. But, pop's ears, seemed to be elsewhere, not on the supper tables, his sense of hearing, drifted to a couple of streets out, and came the sounds…that's, been reduced to, the tiny, chimes.
Pops forgot to start the meals for all the rest of us, in a few short strides, he'd, picked up the firefighter coat, hat, and his boots, all the way, as he ran off, he was, buttoning up the protective wear, ran out of the house.
I'd looked at pop's chopsticks that didn't have any oils on them, fallen from the tabletops to the, floors, like the two drumsticks, hitting the floor, and, it'd awakened another alert bell inside, and my heart paced too, quickly.
Mom, who appeared normal, but with her hands, trembling light, picked up the fallen chopsticks, unhurried, not the least bit, angered, said a prayer for my father's safety, then, called out in dad's place, "let's, dig in!"
That year, after my father returned back from the firefight, there were the charcoal marks on his nose, he'd, hunched over, sat at the round table that's no longer, under that bright light, and, gulfed down the reheated meal that my mother put out for him. I'd pulled up a chair, and sat next to him, and, baked myself with the residual warmth that he'd carried home from the, fire. As my younger siblings saw me doing so, they'd, followed, suit, and the whole family, sat close to one another together again, celebrated my father's safe return on New Year's Eve. On the tables, we'd all, kept guard over my father who's, eating the delayed supper, my father kept watch over our small town, and us too, with the tick and tock of that second hand, through the, years.
I'd asked my father, as a tailor, during the fires, he'd had to, hold that hose steady, to put out the blazes as a volunteer firefighter, wouldn't he feel tired?
illustration from UDN.com
At the moment, I'd, become confused, as I'd not heard the expected words of how he was doing it for the sake of good for all, to save lives, to help people, etc., etc., etc., those answers that are, textbook-grade. My father sipped on the heated soup, and, said, "it is only a hobby of mine."
Later, thirty years passed, and my father's volunteer firefighter uniform hung on the walls, and, made that, imprint on our, walls, became, our, family, and, we, getting hurt, and we didn't even know where the first-aid kit was stored inside the house.
My father, became, a "shared mode", whenever the fire alarms sounded, he would, forget completely that he was a man with a family, and just, rushed into the unknown dangers, to take care of someone else's homes. When he was still alive, I couldn't understand it, it wasn't until the day of his funeral, that everybody in the village came to pay their, respects, offering their condolences, honoring him in death, that was when I'd, realized, that by father's dual identities and, how he'd become, a totally, different person, moment he'd left his scissors, and put on the, fire-protected wear.
That very first New Year's Eve after my father was gone, the firecrackers still sounded off loud in that small, town, the fireworks blasted high up in the, skies. It's just, that before the supper tables, we are, one soldier, missing, with his forehead tightened, with the chopsticks in his hands, alert with every explosive noise from the firecrackers outside.
the professionalism of these volunteers, comparable to the firefighters working for the cities...photo from online
Sis asked, can we keep a seat for pops?
Mom told, based off of traditions, aren't we supposed to, stand the chopsticks inside his bowl?
I'd responded, put the chopsticks by his bowl on the tables. Pops is still sitting there. And now, he would NOT, drop his chopsticks, then run off in a hurry, again.
And so, this is the dedication of a volunteer firefighter, and, he's on call, on the busiest night of the year, New Year's Eve, because of the huge celebratory mode that this small village is in, setting off the firecrackers, cooking the foods for the gatherings on the stoves, and, that's why this is, the BUSIEST time of year for the volunteer firefighters, and while other people are gathered with their families on the table, they all have to be tentative, and listen really closely, to those, fire alarms that are about to, sound off, at any moment of the, evening…
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