By Luke Fischer

I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I was young enough to approach the holiday season with more enthusiasm around gift receiving than gift giving. We were in my grandparents’ home in Renville, a cozy house that seemed to stretch just enough to fit in a dozen cousins (10 boys!) and usually about 10 adults. I can still smell grandma’s Swiss steak filling the house, I can hear feet pounding as we raced up and down the steps, and I can feel the rambunctious energy of kids waiting to open presents on Christmas Eve.

There was a cadence to our routine. Like every year before, we’d gather, we’d play, we’d eat, we’d open presents, we’d crash. With the first two tasks checked off the list, I was prepared to sit still through dinner.

But supper was delayed that year because my grandpa, George Fischer, got called into work.

My grandpa worked in public works from 1976 to 1998 for the City of Renville, a small city on Highway 212. He was part of a two-person crew that was responsible for everything from trash pick-up to park mowing, utilities to street maintenance. He is one of those people that is always up early, knows a hard day’s work, and is duty bound and loyal to his core.

So, that Christmas Eve, when the landline phone started to ring at his house with residents reporting that they didn’t have water, I maybe should have anticipated that our ritual was about to be interrupted — but I didn’t. Remember, I was thinking more about the presents!

For those of you who have been around cities long enough, you know that a watermain never breaks on a Tuesday at 9 a.m. in the middle of June when it is partly cloudy and otherwise pleasant. They tend to rupture when the conditions are the worst and when it’s the coldest. Maybe someone saw the forecasted record cold snap and predicted trouble, but I think most people were probably just looking forward to being hunkered down in a warm house with lots of food and lots of family.

As my grandpa headed out the back door, I distinctly remember my grandma announcing that supper and subsequent activities would be delayed until he got back from dealing with whatever happened. Even though she assured us it wouldn’t take long, you can imagine the flood of agony my cousins and I experienced.

Watermain breaks in the middle of a record cold snap at supper time on Christmas Eve are formidable. My grandpa and co-worker Pete Peterson had a big job ahead — one that would take hours to fix in sub-zero conditions.

I don’t remember exactly how long the dig and repairs took, but I do know it was late by the time my grandpa came through the back door in his overalls and boots covered in muck and ice. There was an elated feeling that washed over the house. I remember a look of relief on his face as grandma slid a plate of Swiss steak in front of him.

Around the holidays, I can’t help but think of that Christmas Eve that was interrupted by hard work that needed doing.

It is easy to take for granted people like my grandpa who leave the warmth of their homes in the middle of a holiday celebration to jump into a muddy hole to fix a water line after it breaks; the folks who climb out of bed when the snow is piling up to make sure the school buses can run on time; or those who are making the rounds to keep the wastewater treatment plant running. But without them, none of us would be able to celebrate or enjoy the holidays quite the same.

Looking back, my grandpa gave me a great gift that year — the chance to see what it means when we ask the hard workers who keep our cities going to spring into action. I’m sure you know who they are in your city — they’re the public works crews, the police officers, and fire fighters whose families sometimes have to wait to eat a meal or open presents while they’re out making sure the water is running, the streets are safe, or helping someone who has fallen sick and in need of immediate help. This holiday season, let’s make a special effort to appreciate those folks.

Luke Fischer is executive director of the League of Minnesota Cities. Contact: lfischer@lmc.org or (651) 281-1279.