Hooray for fire trucks!
52 Weeks of Brotherhood, Week 32
“Boys, climb up on the front of the fire truck so I can take a picture.”
If they’ve heard that sentence once, they’ve heard it a billion and twelve times in their relatively short lives. The front of the truck, the back of the truck, sit in the seat, lean out the window, smile, look serious, sit still, move around, do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the signs — all fire trucks, all the time.
Photos of every age and stage, every haircut, favorite shirts, Sunday best dressed, costumes, t-ball uniforms, field trips and on and on have been captured in front of, behind and beside these fire trucks. We’ve brought friends and family with us from time to time, taking their pictures too.
I look through the massive amounts of photos and remember the time that Munchkin and JD came to visit, and two boys and a little girl with massive amounts of curls sat together, sibling on the front of a fire engine. I remember posing LittleBrother with his daddy’s fire helmet on the front of the truck, clad in nothing but a Goodmama diaper. I remember when they learned they could make the bell ring — loudly. I remember yelling, “STOP RINGING THE BELL.” I remember when they realized that the firefighter wash the trucks at 6:00 every evening. “Can we go help wash trucks tonight?” I remember when I used to have to help them climb up on the back (lower) and in the doors (a bit higher) and on the front of the fire truck (the highest).
“I think I can climb up here by myself now!” I watched as LittleBrother hoisted a leg up on the shiny silver front, pulling his body weight up and over and sat, staring at me with that smile on his face. I snapped the picture, and marked it as one to remember, like I’ve done before. The one where I realized he needs me even less.
I will never tire of taking photos of brothers at the fire station, but oh, my heart as I look back on how they’ve grown. So fast. Too fast.