To most kids my age, September 11 is just another tragic event that happened before they were born — something they learn about in class or hear their parents talk about at home. In my family, the memory of 9/11 has never left us. That’s because my Uncle John died that day, along with 342 other NYFD firefighters, including four from his firehouse in Brooklyn. After the first plane hit the North Tower at 8:46 a.m., Uncle John and his brothers rolled their truck toward downtown with a full crew. He was covering a shift for his friend that morning, just one of many selfless acts in his life that ended with him making the ultimate sacrifice for the people of New York City and the United States. When most people were running out of the Towers that morning, Uncle John and his fellow firefighters were running in.   

All of this happened before I was even born, but evidence of Uncle John’s absence and memory were all around me for as long as I can remember. It was in the back den of my aunt’s house, where photos of Uncle John in his firefighter dress uniform and field gear adorned the wall next to his service awards and the folded American flag from his funeral. It was in the annual memorials to the fallen firefighters at his firehouse in Brooklyn on the anniversary of 9/11 every year, where I would listen to the firefighters who served with him tell stories about Uncle John burning dinner in the firehouse kitchen and lifting weights in the firehouse gym with Metallica blasting on the stereo. It was in the dozens of FDNY sweatshirts and t-shirts from Uncle John’s annual memorial fundraiser golf tournament that each member of my family owned. It was in the stories my mother told me about the many times Uncle John came to the aid of our family — like the time he flew all the way down to Florida to bail out my grandmother’s flooded condominium unit. And it was in the somber undertone to the Father’s Day family gatherings at my aunt’s house that Uncle John tragically could never make.

But Uncle John’s legacy of service as a firefighter was one of his most enduring gifts to our family. A few years ago, my cousin Michael followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the NYFD, even serving at the same firehouse in Brooklyn as Uncle John. And now, inspired by my uncle’s and cousin’s example, I am serving as a volunteer firefighter in my hometown of Roslyn Heights.

When I first joined the firehouse, I was very intimidated. I remember my first meeting at the firehouse, sitting at the bar and being too nervous to speak to the other members. I had just turned 17, and most of the other members were in their 30s and 40s. But I had heard about and seen the bond between Uncle John and Michael and their fellow firefighters, so I forced myself to push through the discomfort until I felt like I belonged there. It helped that AJ, my assigned mentor, worked hard to make me familiar with the foreign environment of the firehouse. He would go over the fire trucks with me at our weekly Monday night drills and show me how to operate each piece of equipment while explaining the situations where I might need to use it. Because of this, I was able to quickly learn where each of the tools was located on the truck and assist the senior firefighters when we went out on calls. I’ve also benefited from the first-class training offered by the Nassau County Fire Service Academy in the Essentials of Firefighting class for new volunteer firefighters. The county fire chief teaches the class himself and makes sure that every one of his students learns all the nuances of firefighting. After taking this class, I’ve been able to contribute a lot more when I go out on a call with my firehouse. 

A few weeks ago, our firehouse was called to respond to a fire that broke out in the back of a pickup truck on the highway. When we got there, the pickup truck was pulled over on the shoulder of the highway with flames shooting high in the air from a drum in the flatbed of the truck. It turned out that the fire started when a lithium battery, like the kind used in electric cars, caught fire while in the flatbed of the truck. I’d read stories before about electric cars catching on fire, but the intensity of the fire coming from such a tiny battery amazed me when I witnessed it firsthand. Because of the extreme flammability of the lithium battery, our engine crew had to be extremely careful while we methodically cooled the little battery with our hoses. The temperature of the battery had risen so high that even after we had extinguished the flames, we had to continue dousing the battery with water for another two hours before it was safe to remove and dispose of. When we finally finished the call, I was exhausted from carrying the hoses and tools. Still, it was a valuable learning and bonding experience for our crew since it was one of the most difficult and dramatic calls the firehouse had responded to all year. 

I’ve been volunteering at the firehouse for almost a year now, and it’s become like a second home for me, with the guys in the firehouse becoming like a second family. During the long stretches between calls at the firehouse, I often do my homework, work out in the firehouse gym, check the equipment on the trucks, or just hang out with the other guys in the house watching TV in the office. Our house also plays in a softball league with other firehouses in Nassau County. While we have yet to win a game, the games are always fun and an excellent opportunity to get to know the other firefighters outside the house.

While the commitment and sacrifices of my uncle and cousin inspired me to serve my community as a volunteer firefighter, joining your local firehouse is a great way to help your community and form strong bonds with your fellow volunteers, even if you don’t come from a family of firefighters. Once I overcame my initial reluctance, my experiences as a volunteer firefighter have been rewarding and often exhilarating. So, if you’re looking for an intense and meaningful way to serve your community, volunteering at your neighborhood firehouse will give you the experience of a lifetime while allowing you to do your small part to honor the legacy and sacrifice of those heroes who served before us, like my Uncle John.