Blue

With his blue eyes and blond hair, Da Kid has always looked good in dark blue. Navy to be exact. With only a few exceptions he hasn't worn that color in years, ever since I made the mistake of telling him that.

Now he has no choice.

I found out Sunday why it was anticipated the graduation ceremonies for Recruit Class I would take four hours. It wasn't all about them.

CCFR used the opportunity to also celebrate the promotion of nine of its members. Then came the Meet and Greet portion of the schedule which, in reality, gave everyone an excuse to eat. Where there is a gathering of firefighters, there will usually be good food and plenty of it. Sunday was no exception.

<belch>

Next, everyone headed outside for the demonstration. Two had been planned but the burn was canceled because it was so danged windy. Extremely windy. Setting an old SUV -- that had been stripped of all useful parts and then filled with railroad ties and such so that it would REALLY burn -- in those conditions? Nuh-uh. As a result, everything (except for cleaning up the mess) was over an hour early, but not before the Extrication demonstration.
(As a quick aside, Da Kid was shocked when I told him months ago that in my much younger days, through and organization I'd been volunteering with I'd taken the class he was about to. <tee-hee-hee>)

You've probably had glimpses already extrication either in television dramas, on news reports or in still pictures in newspapers or magazines. If you're not familiar with the actual process, think of it as the controlled, systematic destruction of a vehicle's structural integrity, in order to provide assistance to and remove victims trapped inside.

The short version is the windows were taken out first. Next the doors were removed. Then, cuts were made to remove the vehicle's roof in case the victim inside had to be taken out on a backboard.

If the victim is pinned inside because of the dashboard, out it goes. If more access is needed, since there's little structural integrity left to the vehicle's front end, the bumper can now be tipped toward the ground.

Once Recruit Class I was done totally destroying what at some time, I'm sure, had been someone's pride and joy, Hubby, Herself and I headed home as did the other attendees.

The graduates, however, didn't. Unlike other graduations, they're the ones who had to clean up the mess.

Da Kid reported to his station the next morning. He was hoping he wouldn't get this type of assignment. Not for a while. He didn't think was ready but apparently the powers that be disagreed.

Da Kid's assigned to a one-man station.

I didn't get much sleep Monday night. I kept wondering if he'd had enough to eat (When I asked him what was around the station he replied, "Trees."), if he was warm enough, if he'd had to go out on a call, if he'd had a chance to get any sleep, if . . .

I know I know! He'd be home the next morning when his shift was over and he's a grown man, but I couldn't help it. I'm still his mother and when it comes to your child, worry isn't something that can be turned on and off with a switch.

About 4:30 ayem or so, something hit me.

That night I was just one of many mothers finding it difficult to sleep. They were wondering the same things as I was after kissing their uniformed child on the cheek as they walked out the door.

Some, like mine, would be home when their shift ended the next day.

Other mothers, though, won't see their child again for weeks. Months. Perhaps longer. Not until they had completed basic, or their tour, or . . .

I'm not sure if that made me feel better or worse, but I was able to doze off finally.

Da Kid would be home in the morning.