My husband and I met on a blind date. As far as I was concerned, he had two strikes against him before I even laid eyes on him; he was an American and he was a firefighter.
The first strike was not insurmountable. Living in a Canadian border town, it’s not uncommon to have friends on both sides. This was pre 9/11, so crossing the border wasn’t such a big deal. I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with the hassle, but it was negotiable.
The second strike was pretty much a deal breaker for me. My girlfriends thought dating a firefighter would be awesome. I’m sure they were thinking calendars and trashy romance novels. Not me. I knew better.
My uncle was a fire chief. Every family gathering he brought his pager. That pager ruled their lives. No matter what was happening, when the pager went off, my uncle left. I heard my aunt call it his “second wife” more than once. I was at a family wedding where most of the wedding party, including the pastor, and a bunch of the guests got up and walked out mid-ceremony when their pagers all went off at the same time.
Worse than the ever-present pager were the stories he told. He occasionally talked about the people he saved, but he was haunted by the ones he lost. He was paranoid about toasters after being on a fatality fire caused by one. He must have warned me fifty times to never leave the toaster plugged in because there was just one little spring keeping it up and preventing it from burning our house down.
And the stupid. He made the stories sound funny, but I don’t know how he dealt with all the stupid things people do. Like the time he and his crew had just rescued a guy who was riding his snow mobile on the lake, despite warning signs saying the ice wasn’t thick enough yet, and went through. They were tired, wet, and half frozen, packing up and putting their equipment back on the trucks when another guy raced right past them and went through the ice in the same spot. If it had been me, I might have thought twice about rescuing the second guy.
So, as I was leaving for our first date, I told my daughter and my friend that it would be the shortest date in history. I told them it would take an angel straight from heaven before I would even consider dating a firefighter, never mind any kind of long-term relationship.
Yeah, famous last words. I knew I was in trouble when I asked him his last name. Santangelo is Italian for Holy Angel, and an angel is exactly what he turned out to be. He didn’t talk about himself, or sports, or television, or other people. We talked about ideas, and concepts, and quantum physics, and history. He didn’t do all the talking. He asked great questions and actually listened to my answers. He was more interested in my mind than in my cleavage. Oh, and did I mention he was (and still is) absolutely gorgeous?
The shortest date in history lasted about three hours. The only reason it didn’t last longer was because he saw that I was getting tired. Yes, he SAW me. He said he was having a wonderful time and that he hadn’t enjoyed a conversation so much in years, but he knew I had to go to work the next morning, so he suggested we continue another time. He was more interested in my well-being than in his having a good time.
Long story short, we’ve been together ever since. There was no going back for either of us. Twenty-four years later we are still best friends and more in love than ever.
I married the most amazing man I’ve ever met, who just happens to be a firefighter. We support each other. We work as a team. It hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been worth the effort.
Somehow, we managed to raise our kids, along with dogs, cats, horses, cows, sheep, and assorted other furry and feathered friends while he worked the most hours of overtime in his department every year and I finished my bachelor’s degree, earned my master’s and PhD, worked with victims of domestic violence, and provided family preservation services.
We struggled, we persevered, and we learned a lot. I’m happy to be able to share what we learned and help you on your own amazing journey with your partner, who just happens to be a first responder.