193. A Little Boy Asked "Are You God?" | A Surfer Became a Paramedic Firefighter Captain

Shawn Fernandes

In this powerful episode of the Transition Drill Podcast, about to retire, firefighter and paramedic Shawn Fernandes shares a raw, unfiltered account of his 33-year career in emergency services—and the unexpected road that led him there. Raised in San Diego by a working-class family of fishermen, Shawn’s early adult life revolved around one obsession: surfing. After years of chasing waves and losing jobs for the pursuit, he stumbled into EMS through a chance conversation with surfer friends who were also firefighters. Throughout the conversation, Shawn opens up about the long-term emotional impact of the job—from witnessing death to carrying the unseen weight of service. He speaks candidly about burnout, mental health, and the way trauma creeps into home life, straining families and relationships. Shawn also offers insight into the silent similarities shared by first responders, law enforcement professionals, and military veterans: the grind, the compartmentalization, and the inevitable transition out. With humility and honesty, he discusses stepping away from his career—not as an end, but as a transition into a new mission.

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Before donning the uniform and clocking in over three decades as a firefighter and paramedic, Shawn Fernandes was just another Southern California kid with sand in his shoes and the ocean in his blood. Raised in the Normal Heights neighborhood of San Diego, Shawn grew up in a tight-knit, working-class family. His roots ran deep—half Portuguese fisherman on one side, deeply Mexican on the other. His father spent much of his life at sea, leaving Shawn’s mother and his grandmother—the family’s true backbone—to shape his formative years.

The neighborhood was diverse, and so were the friendships and life lessons that came from it. Shawn was no stranger to hard work. From a young age, he was helping his grandfather unload fishing boats, tying lines, and learning the rhythm of life dockside. But while he respected the grind of commercial fishing, he never felt fully pulled toward it. His real obsession would surface later.

Shawn was a multi-sport athlete, a capable student when he chose to apply himself, and known more for his physical energy than his academic drive. But everything changed the day a neighborhood friend shoved him into a foggy, waist-deep swell at Ocean Beach. After just a few tries, he stood up on a board—and from that moment on, surfing became his North Star.

He wasn’t interested in chasing medals or pro dreams. What he wanted was freedom, and surfing gave it to him in spades. School became secondary. He skipped classes for good waves, failed more than a few semesters, and had to attend summer school three years in a row just to graduate. At one point, he was denied the chance to walk with his class—until a counselor, through tears, realized he had actually earned enough credits after all.

As a young adult, Shawn cobbled together jobs around his surf schedule—working at Nordstrom’s café, a local surf shop, and doing backbreaking stucco and tile work. Nothing stuck. He lost jobs because he bailed to catch waves. For him, surfing wasn’t just a hobby—it was a compass, guiding nearly every decision. But eventually, that compass began to point him toward a crossroads.

It was the lifestyle of a couple of his surfing friends that sparked the shift. These guys were always in the water but somehow had new trucks, surfboards, and a steady income. When Shawn finally asked them what they did, they replied simply: “We’re firemen. Paramedics.”

That was it. No romantic call to duty, no childhood dream. Just curiosity—and maybe a little envy. He was already physically capable, wasn’t afraid of hard work, and liked the idea of having a career that still allowed room for surfing.

Still, when the day came to enroll in the EMT program at Miramar College, he nearly skipped it for a promising surf forecast. His roommates had to forcibly load him into a truck and drive him to the sign-up office. That decision—part chance, part shove—would change everything.

Shawn Fernandes didn’t walk into emergency services with grand illusions of heroism. His journey from civilian to first responder was born from curiosity and necessity. Once committed, though, he threw himself into it with the same intensity he once reserved for the ocean.

Starting as an EMT—Emergency Medical Technician—Shawn quickly discovered that real-world calls bore little resemblance to the training classroom. EMTs often handle the unglamorous side of care: transporting patients, routine medical assists, and getting thrown the leftovers of fire department callouts. But his perspective changed forever during one off-duty moment in Chula Vista.

Driving home at dusk, he witnessed a violent vehicle rollover. What he first thought was a rag flying out of the sunroof turned out to be a young boy—lifeless on the pavement. The boy clutched Shawn’s collar, looked into his eyes, and asked, “Are you God?” Moments later, he died.

That single call seared itself into Shawn’s soul. He was unprepared, both professionally and emotionally, and it lit a fire within him that hasn’t gone out since. He swore then that he would never feel that helpless again. That commitment propelled him forward—into paramedic training and eventually, the fire service.

The transition from EMT to paramedic wasn’t easy. The demands were steep, the learning curve brutal. Paramedic school tested not just his academic endurance but his emotional resilience. Still, Shawn pushed through, motivated by that boy’s face, that moment, that question. Joining the fire department meant more than a title change. It was a full immersion into the world of first responders. From fighting fires to extracting victims from mangled vehicles, from cardiac arrests to calls involving mental health crises, Shawn saw it all. Over three decades, he served in high-call-volume areas like Chula Vista, South Bay, and Oceanside—places where the radio rarely went quiet.

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He moved up the ranks, becoming a captain—a title he earned the old-school way, through sweat, hard lessons, and relentless consistency. As a firefighter and paramedic, Shawn witnessed the full spectrum of human suffering and resilience. From saving lives to holding space for those whose time had come, he embraced the chaos, the camaraderie, and the responsibility.

But even the most seasoned firefighter eventually begins to feel the weight. It wasn’t the trauma that wore him down—it was the repetition. The endless stream of preventable calls. The homeless man who calls 911 for the fifth time that day. The house with faded family portraits on the wall, now filled with a dying elder clinging to dignity. The job shifted from adrenaline to empathy, from action to existential reflection.

Shawn began to feel it—not in his body, but in his perspective. He started to notice the photos in hallways more than the call sheets. He realized he wasn’t just serving others’ final chapters—he was approaching his own. It wasn’t burnout. It was awareness. Even the most dedicated firefighter eventually confronts the truth: every tour has an endpoint.

If there’s one truth that binds firefighters, police officers, EMS professionals, and military veterans, it’s this: trauma doesn’t ask for permission. It just shows up—and it stays longer than most expect. For Shawn Fernandes, three decades as a firefighter and paramedic meant becoming intimately familiar with trauma’s slow, silent toll.

The trauma didn’t come from the blood and the broken bodies. That part, Shawn said, rarely shook him. What burrowed deep were the moments that made him confront the fragility of life—especially when it involved children or mirrored his own mortality. That first call as a brand-new EMT, the dying boy’s question—“Are you God?”—still replays in his mind 30 years later. And even now, every so often, a dream surfaces. Always the same: blood in the air, a hill backlit by chaos, and a crowd of bodies he can’t quite reach in time.

He learned to compartmentalize. It's what first responders do. But he also saw that not everyone could. Some firefighters unraveled under the weight. Others silently carried it, only to find themselves crushed years later. For a long time, Shawn responded with grit and toughness: “You signed up for this. Get ready for worse tomorrow.” But eventually, he learned that resilience didn’t have to mean suppression.

That realization led him into peer support—a role he embraced not as a counselor, but as a brother who’d seen it all and come out standing. He became the guy others turned to. A grounding voice who could balance hard truth with compassion. As someone who served alongside police, EMS, and military veterans alike, Shawn understood the difference between a single traumatic incident and the cumulative exhaustion of a career spent running toward emergencies.

And still, trauma wasn’t the only thief. Burnout had its grip too. It crept in through repeated 911 calls for non-emergencies, through senseless bureaucracy, and worst of all, through the inability to leave the job at the door. He watched marriages fall apart—including the near collapse of his own family life—not because of the trauma, but because of what came home with him: the frustration, the standards, the leadership mindset that didn’t belong in a kitchen with kids.

That’s when the real transition began—not when he filed paperwork, but when he looked around and saw his name on the call roster next to guys 30 years younger. The firehouse walls didn’t echo the same anymore. He knew the time was near. Not because he couldn’t still do the job, but because he was ready to live differently.

Shawn doesn’t talk about retirement like a man stepping off duty. He talks about it like a veteran transitioning to his next mission. Whether that’s mentoring new firefighters, helping veterans and first responders navigate their own career change, or simply staying fit, surfing, and rolling jiu-jitsu mats—he’s not done serving. He’s just ready to serve in a different way. Because for those who’ve lived a life of service, transition isn’t the end. It’s just the next chapter.

The go-to podcast for military veterans, police officers, firefighters, EMTs, and first responders preparing for life after service. Hosted by Paul Pantani—a retired law enforcement leader with 30+ years of experience—Transition Drill features candid conversations with veterans from every military branch, as well as law enforcement professionals navigating career change, retirement, and the transition to civilian life. Guests share stories of mental health, post-traumatic growth, job search strategies, and what it really takes to succeed after the uniform. Whether you're transitioning from policing, firefighting, or military service, this podcast will help you lead the next chapter with clarity and confidence.

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