The Grumpy Chief
As every father should be to their kids, my father was my hero. He was my hero for simply being the best dad. No matter how tired he was, he was there for me to talk, play, teach me everything, give advice, or just watch movies. He was my everything, my best friend, and for an only child, it means a lot to have parents who dropped everything to be by your side. Growing up, we weren’t rich, but we never wanted for anything, and I never felt different from any kid I went to school with. I never realized how hard my father worked to make sure food was on the table, I was dressed in all the best clothes, Mom always had presents, and we always took adventures. He is still my hero, but he also was a lot of people hero, and the gravity of that didn’t hit me until his funeral.
On the two days of my father’s funeral, I learned so many stories of my father’s selflessness. He constantly put others before himself, helped people in their careers, in their personal lives, was often a shoulder to cry on or the voice of reason, and above all else, he put his life on the line to save and protect total strangers.
Growing up my father was in the Fire Department on Long Island. Strictly volunteer, it was a group of men and women who wanted to give back to the community because in their hearts they knew it was the right thing. These firefighters were always running into danger as others were running away, saving families and sometimes material goods for the people whose house was burning down.
In 1998, he won the election to be Chief of the Fire Department in Farmingville, New York. He was so excited! He loved the men and women he served with, and to be honest, those men and women became more like family then some of our blood relatives. They were at every party, some even lived with us in the basement apartment downstairs, and they were always around when we needed them. Being a part of the Fire Department was a highlight for my father; he felt he was part of something much bigger than himself. He was right. He answered the call of duty at every hour and in every possible situation, including 9/11. Selfless.
My father, the teddy bear, also was known for what we call now, resting bitch face. He had this demeanor about him that said, “I could kill you with the wrench in my back pocket” or so my high school boyfriends would say. He was tough and could be cranky (mainly when he was dealing with stupidity as he would say), and this gained him the nickname of “Grumpy Chief” — a nickname he took pride in. He got one of those red bug shields for his truck and had the vinyl Grumpy Chief put on it, he had so many Grumpy (one of the dwarves from Snow White) toys and mugs. He loved it. Nicknames meant you were loved and my father was very loved.
After he retired from the department, a heart-breaking decision he needed to make, he moved on to work at Assisted Livings as a Maintenance Coordinator and later became regional when his first company realized how amazing he was at his job. Not only did he have a head for business — I mean hell, he owned his own plumbing and heating business (Fire House Plumbing and Heating) — but he was also the head of maintenance at Huntington Public Schools (where he would mentor students and teach them how to work with their hands).
In his time working with Assisted Livings, he loved the residents more than anything. He would spend hours with them, learning about their lives, their dreams, their fears, everything they would share. He taught me that to learn from other people’s lives was some of the best lessons I would ever learn.
Now his grumpy demeanor did not leave him after leaving the fire department. He kept the grumpy nickname. Many people would break through his grumpy demeanor to see his loving heart. He helped many people start their careers, grow in their careers, gave back to families in need. I learned more about this at his funeral and the stories still continue to flood in.
In his life and in his passing, he has taught me to be selfless and compassionate. A lesson that this hard to learn.
