I’m a 58-year-old man who retired after working 29 years for the Dallas Fire Department. I was born and raised in and around Fort Worth, Texas and have never lived further than 20 miles from the hospital in which I was born. I like it here. I did not grow-up wanting to be a fireman; it never even crossed my mind until my late twenties when I was once more looking for a long-term career. In retrospect, I had no idea what I was getting into—the lure of a steady paycheck was all I could see. I had worked in several jobs where the paycheck was tenuous and the work hours were long and uninspiring. I needed a change. I’m married to my high-school sweetheart and have a wonderful daughter who still laughs at my jokes. Even the ones she has heard a hundred times. The wife, not so much. My grandfather was also a fireman, working in Fort Worth, but I can’t recall anything he said about the job. He died just before I applied with Dallas and never had a chance to warn me. After growing up and watching her father struggle to make ends meet, often going straight from the firehouse to his second job, my mother could have warned me, but she was silent. Perhaps she figured this job wouldn’t last any longer than my previous ones had. Retirement is golden and I am thankful I lived to see it.