I want to be a firefighter

Actually, I have no desire to be a firefighter — I’m nearly pyrophobic.  As a child, I used to lie awake at night worrying about the possibility of my house burning down while I slept, was petrified of any open flame (including birthday candles) and actually had to be personally escorted out of the classroom, by the teacher, every time we had a fire drill.

I’ve gotten over it to some extent.  I can handle birthday candles and fires in fireplaces pretty well, at least.

But tonight, at dinner, Benjamin announced the inevitable:  that he wants to be a firefighter when he grows up.  And Liam can be his baby firefighter and help him and ride in the back of the truck.  And he might get a Dalmatian to ride on his red firetruck.  And his friends can be firefighters, too, but they’ll be firefighters at the airport and use the green fire truck.

I know we’ll most likely go through many life ambitions over the course of his lifetime (I’m still coming up with new ones for myself) but there’s something very sweet about this one.  As his protective mother, I hope he chooses something else.  But, when he told me, I responded (sincerely) that I will be happy with him being whatever he wants to be when he grows up.  Right now, I’m just happy with him being Benjamin, and I’m so glad he’s still little.

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