His Mark on the World

Within most human beings, no matter their age, lies a concept of what defines the word “hero”.

Some would immediately propose the supernatural, wielding powers beyond human compare.

Others may suggest commonalities and ideologies between individuals that serve as indicators for heroism.

And finally, somewhere amongst the unknowing crowd, is a man who would disregard his livelihood for them without a moments hesitation.

Mark Snyder, my father.

I do believe there comes a point in every persons life when you realize and ultimately respect the sacrifices parents routinely choose to make on your behalf. For some- if not most- it sadly comes when it is too late.

In a way, I am lucky to have had this moment while my father is still here, alive and well, and as of today (June 10th, 2022), officially retired.

“My Dad is a firefighter!”

There’s a sense of pride that comes along with that statement, as well as a vast unknowing.

From his lips have poured memories- far deeper than stories- that fill his mind and cannot be relayed with every detail attached.

I assume there is a fear- on both of our parts- that, if they were, the lengths he went to in order to ensure that my childlike innocence remained intact would be ruined.

Disturbing as it may be, death in the line of duty versus suicide weighs in favor of the latter amongst fireman.

Recounting my fathers stories, which belong to only him and will eventually be forgotten amongst many left untold, sheds dim light upon this grim statistic.

At a young age, I cannot claim I understood the risks. I cannot claim to have shared the same number of sleepless nights, spent alone, deeply consumed by a fear of the unknown that my mother undoubtedly had.

I’d resort to the comfort of my room, soundly sleeping after thinking about an upcoming baseball game, or the following days activities while my father was at work.

His schedule lent itself to being a very active participant in my, and my three little sisters lives.

24 hours on duty, 48 hours off, 24 hours on duty, 96 hours off.

Occasionally, moments which I could not understand would call for longer shifts- however, I often took for granted the seconds of seeing my father walk in through the door to greet us in the morning before heading out to school.

I’d return at the end of the day, knowing my mother had been at work as well, to a clean home, a safe environment, and a warm meal prepared.

Even as I write this, I’m not sure if he had deeply slept at any point, or how he could have functioned amidst the isolation.

My dad, to this day, favors small circles and is very selective in terms of who he chooses to connect with, and how he spends his time.

Granted, this is my perspective and he may have differing opinions, but I do know this- it was early on in his career (he became a fireman at 18 years old) that his best friend Jeff passed away in a car accident.

Fortune never favored me with the opportunity to meet or talk with Jeff, but through my Dads recounting of his lasting impact, I fully believe he must have been an incredible friend, and a quality man.

Try as we may to stop it, even if only for a brief while, life and time continues on.

My mother and father met on a blind date, which was mini golfing at a course near Puyallup, Washington. Being the avid golfer I know he was, I’m sure he enjoyed the outing- and clearly enjoyed my mothers company.

They often tell me- “they just knew.”

They are still together through it all.

It wasn’t long before they were engaged, then wed, and a little further down the road I came along.

Having a daughter of my own now, I can grasp the concept of how it felt to have a healthy baby, and not to toot my own horn here, but Washington’s Most Beautiful Baby to boot.

We lived in Tacoma, Washington for years I don’t recall, and after one occasion of frightening activity around our neighborhood, moved and planted our roots in Olympia, Washington where my father had grown up.

He was a Tumwater High School graduate, an incredible athlete and gifted runner and his parents and family were nearby.

These days, I think about how physically strong my father was- proven by one occasion during my youth of him running, and finishing, the Capital City Marathon.

His mental toughness is unmatched- but in a highly dangerous line of work such as firefighting, you put your body into an undeniable amount of risk.

I don’t remember exactly the year it happened, or the age I was, but I will never forget the emotions I felt on the night that he sustained a very serious injury at work.

I’m inclined to say that the severity of the injury to his neck ultimately, and permanently, changed him.

He had major surgeries following the injury, and in the weeks ahead, slept with a neck brace, upright, in a Lazy Boy recliner.

His inability to eat, which I assume came from the pain associated, caused him to transform in front of my eyes.

My father would never fully return to doing the thing he truly cared about and was passionate for.

He was a fireman, a hazardous materials and explosives expert, an intellect and thoughtful man through and through and was no longer allowed to wear the helmet.

My father somehow balanced his professional and personal life like a world class gymnast, at times working three separate jobs- one at the cemetery, another umpiring baseball games and his career, all to make sure his children were taken care of.

Every summer we would travel over to Lake Chelan and camp for a week, and almost every 4 years we would drive down to California, stay in a nice condo at Dana Point, and enjoy Disneyland for more than a few days.

He made sure I never went without everything I needed in terms of clothing and necessary athletic gear.

He made it possible to play on select traveling baseball teams and encouraged me to go after everything I desired in life.

I cannot fathom what it truly took to make that all possible for my sisters and I.

We never moved growing up- and even though it often rained (as Washington does) and flooded in our home, my father made certain to care for and prepare the home as needed.

His compassion and care for his family and others extended far beyond his fellow man.

If you were to stop reading right now, and do the following search on Google- “Mark Snyder Tacoma Fire, Owl” you’d find an article at the very top of my father rescuing an ensnared owl.

I don’t necessarily need to recount every story of bravery, danger, dismay, depression or triumph that my father experienced. I don’t think I even want to.

I just want to leave you with this, my father was a hero to many and will forever be a hero to me.

I love you Dad.

Without End,

Jake