Buy the Cheap Seats | What I learned from a visit to the 9/11 Memorial and Citi Field

“You were in a fire?”

My son and I caught a Mets/Cubs game in NYC this week after much begging from him, and hemming and hawing from me. I gave the standard parental non-committal answer: “We’ll see.” For me, it was about not wanting to shackle myself to an expensive promise that I felt that I would be too tired to fulfill. For him, it was what it is to all kids. A concrete “No.”

“Okay…” He sighed.

Fast forward a few days and I finally got over myself and my insistence on expensive infield box seats. “It is the last time they will be this close this year.” I thought. So I bought the cheapest outfield seats I could find and then watched his face light up like Christmas morning when I told him we were going. The morning of the game, I asked him if he wanted to go early and see some of the sights. To him, it meant the Statue of Liberty. To me, it meant the 9/11 Museum.

“What’s 9/11?” He asked. “You haven’t heard of 9/11?” I responded, dumbfounded. I don’t think he could have said anything that would have taken me more off guard. 9/11 was an event that was so pivotal in my life and shaped my identity in so many ways, and he had never even heard of it. I had to change that, so on the way down, we watched several documentaries while he asked questions. “So they rebuilt those buildings then?” “Nope”. “So many people died there, buddy. They could never rebuild on that spot. ”I explained. Choking back emotions that I hadn’t felt in 22 years; emotions that I had forgotten.

As we strolled the area around the reflecting pools, he asked questions about who these people engraved in the granite were. “Just ordinary people, firefighters, policemen, paramedics, who went to work and never made it home.” I explained. He was somber for a moment, but like all 8 year olds, got bored and asked me what was next.

We entered the museum and I began to sink into myself a little bit. All of this might have been a little heavy for a little boy, but for me, it was a pilgrimage that was long overdue and gave me the chance to share a little bit of myself with my little man. I paused at the sign on the bottom. “1200 feet above this spot, struck the first airplane.” I stopped and closed my eyes and imagined the moment. I remembered the horror of the people jumping to their deaths, trying to escape the flames. I imagined how helpless those firefighters must have felt, and how desperate they must have been to get up there. I reflected on the high-rise drill in the academy, our attempt to climb 37 floors in full gear, carrying two air bottles, a high rise pack, and tools in remembrance of Battalion Chief Orio Palmer who made it to the 78th floor that day, climbing 37 of them. I remembered how I could only make it halfway when I was in peak shape, and how my legs felt after doing that. He must have been running on pure adrenaline.

9/11 Memorial Reflecting Pool

Ladder 3 | 9/11 Memorial Museum

My moment was interrupted by my son. “What are you doing?” He asked. Once again, I choked it back and moved on. Next we found ourselves in the “In Memorial” hall. I pointed out to him all of the firefighters among those pictured. “Why are there so many?” He asked. “343 firefighters died that day. For me, it was a big part of why I became a firefighter, my man.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait? You were a firefighter?” For the second time today, I was at a loss for words. It had never occurred to me, but I stepped away from the fire service when he was not yet sentient. He had no recollection of my time as a firefighter.

“Uh, yeah man.” I confirmed.

“And you went into a fire?”

“Yeah, quite a few.”

“Wow, that’s cool!” He replied.

He turned and continued walking. I followed, and then he stopped again. “Why did this make you want to be a firefighter?” I explained the sentiment of the country during that time and how enamored we were with the men and women who followed the age old cliché and ran in when everybody else was running out. “I wanted to be a part of that.” He gave a pondering nod.

“So when are we going to the game?” He asked. “Now.” I said, as he lit up with excitement.

And with that, our time at the memorial concluded with a lesson learned.

You are more than your job. This is a tough one to swallow for those of us in public safety. I remember the turmoil I felt when I decided to step away from the fire service. I remember wondering if I would miss it and worrying about the permanence of such a decision. I remember wondering who I would be when I was no longer a firefighter, and you know what? I don’t miss the job at all. And when I leave EMS, I won’t miss that either. What I do miss are the guys; the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the friendships, and the family, but I haven’t lost that altogether either. Those people were there for me on the worst days of my life and remain so to this day. But guess what? I don’t remember them as firefighters either. They are all the things I listed above and they WORKED for the fire department. Where you work and what you do is not who you are.

Remember that when you start to weigh what it will be like to walk away. Remember that when you decide to pick up an extra shift or push off a baseball game because you will be too tired from work. Remember that when you start bringing the job home.

All these years later, the job that I struggled so much with stepping away from because it was who I thought I was, didn’t mean anything to my son. To him, I am not a firefighter or a paramedic. The title he knows me by is Dad, the guy who takes him to baseball games and plays catch in the backyard.

So, buy the cheap seats. It’s the best money you will ever spend, and the memory is priceless.

Citi Field Cheap Seats