To Put The Fire Out.

My first conscious memories  don’t include a father. A grandfather, uncles  but no father. Women and men, but no father. My mother’s best friend’s father was a fire man. He was a father. Fathers I reasoned,  were like firemen. They slept in a fire hall with a pole and did important dangerous work .

Firemen then, have always been special to me even before I met the two who became my younger brother and my brother in law.

Earlier in the week  when I said interesting buildings make me happy I had taken a photo of my fire hall, as well as the church I decided to post . Interesting to look at,  it makes me happy just because it is there. I know the fire fighters are there waiting  to be needed.

No matter the reason-whether through carelessness, accident, misadventure or malintent you can rely on  firefighters. I know this wasn’t always so but it is for me in the community I live in.This makes me very happy and so fire stations make me happy. This Toronto fire station captures my happy memories.


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