CURLY HEADED FIREMAN

When my first born son was six he wanted to be a fireman and work in search and rescue. There was a traumatic event at our country home where an 80 year old man turned his tractor over on himself. We had no phone no car and my husband had left with a friend to pick up a lawn mower. I also had a five year old and a baby in a playpen. I was still recovering from giving birth. I wrote this poem for him.




A curly headed fireman was born to me.
Late at night in the land of the free.
Never cried a tear till he was nearly one.
I was proud of him ,my first born son.
He was speaking sentences before he was two.
With dimples in his smile that captured you.
He grew straight and tall and was very bright,
Cowboy boots and jeans that fit just right.
A worn straw hat adorned his head,
He wanted to be a fireman so he said.
At age 6 the opportunity came too soon.
To rescue an old man under a tractor at high noon.
He dragged a pry board to lift the tractor off him,
He chances looked to be mighty slim.
He started rolling stones as fast as he could,
Pushing and shoving them under the tractor hood.
To relieve the pressure from the frail old man,
The cries of anguish almost more than he could stand.
Run to the neighbors for help, Mama cried,
Then he heard the car at the end of the drive.
Dad and his friend was there to give a hand,
As they carefully lifted the tractor off the old man.
A few broken ribs and a gash or two,
A few weeks later the old man was good as new.
Mom said, I was a fireman tried and true.
Oh, son I'm so proud you see,
Of this curly headed fireman born to me.