Firefighter Alan Feinberg
Battalion 9

Memorial Service was held on
Tuesday, September 25, 2001

Sitting on the couch, watching my favorite show, I suddenly see a breaking news report on the screen: "Fire blazes through a midtown high-rise. Firefighters struggle to control the flames."

I am completely paralyzed by the images of the firefighters scrambling to rescue the victims of the building and to extinguish the roaring flames.
Suddenly, my eyes notice a single firefighter. I begin to look closer at this hero and realize that he is my father. This overwhelming sense of pride and respect fills my body. I cannot do anything but watch my father in action.

From as early as I can remember, my dad was a firefighter. He would tell me stories about fires that destroyed high-rise buildings or his efforts at rescuing family members. I would repeat his stories on the school playground. Everyone thought that my dad was "the coolest."

Often times, he would come to my kindergarten class for show and tell. The children would dress up in his jacket and wear his boots and helmet. As he would talk to my classmates, I always had a tremendous smile on my face.

As I became a little older, however, I began to realize the risks involved in my father's line of work. My mother constantly would receive phone calls informing her that my dad was in the hospital for smoke inhalation or debris in his eyes. Although these injuries always were minor, the danger associated with his job became quite evident to me by the age of 11. I would cry hysterically when my dad had to leave for work, wondering if this would be the last time I would ever see him.

Why couldn't my dad have a safe job, like an accountant or computer analyst?

When my father was not fighting fires or saving the world, he was busy running the household and taking care of my younger brother and me. Since my mother worked 12-hour days in New York City, my dad became Mr. Mom. His flexible schedule allowed him the time to make my brother and me breakfast before putting us on the bus during our elementary school years. He also was the coach of all our sporting teams.

In school, he was labeled "class dad" since he chaperoned most of our field trips. On these trips, there were countless times when students would become separated from the group. In every instance, my father immediately would take charge, making sure the youngsters safely made it back. In high school, he cheered for me at every soccer game.

My father has taught me the true meaning of a hero. It amazes me how someone can have such an unyielding desire to help others, even when there is a constant risk of the danger involved. Even when my father is not fighting fires, he is altruistic in other ways.

If there is an accident on the road, he always will stop to administer first aid and call the police. My father is the first one to run onto the field at a soccer game to make sure the player is not seriously hurt. My father is the person who has had the biggest influence on me. I have gauged my life in terms of his evaluations. My victories have been better because of the glory I see reflected in his eyes.

The news report interrupts again: "Firefighters have taken control of the five-alarm blaze. According to Alan Feinberg, no one was hurt. But the damage to the building is severe. This is Channel 7 signing off, but not without a huge thank you to the New York City firefighters, whose hard work and dedication each and every day is an inspiration to others."

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