Growing up in a law enforcement household has been one of the greatest blessings of my life, but has also been one of the greatest struggles. When I was younger, all the kids were so mesmerized by my dad, all of them admired his uniform and wanted to hold his badge. But as I grew older, it became less about the admiration of him and more about the detest of his authority or the benefits of being friends with a cop’s daughter. But, the hardest time of my life as a law enforcement daughter has only just begun. In today’s society, it has become the norm to hate those on the force, and to hold middle fingers high to them as they step on their existence. I could easily be one of those people, the ones who see only the bad in the world and not the good, but being raised by such wonderful people has given me a perspective that most wouldn’t have.
During Christmas Eve this past year, I sat in the living room with my dad, watching our yearly screening of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. We had changed into our Christmas attire and were debating over who was going to get up and make mugs of hot chocolate when the phone rang. My heart sank in my chest as he picked up the phone, and immediately I knew he was going to trade out his grinch shirt for his navy blue uniform. I got up and slugged to the laundry room, sliding my pink pig slippers across the tile floor, and began to pull on my BDU’s and green uniform shirt (I volunteer on the Community Emergency Response Team and work with the Emergency Services Units). We were in the truck and on the road in ten minutes while our movie played to an audience of our two dogs, our coffee mugs empty. At first we were upset, of course, but the upset quickly faded as we thought of the family that needed help. They came first. It was an apartment building fire, and when we pulled up I watched as black smoke flooded out of the windows and small families gathered around a black, soot-covered Christmas tree. I knew not to show my emotions, that tearing up at the sight was the wrong thing to do, but I couldn’t help struggling to fight back the tears as my heart swelled into my throat. I did what little I could do, and helped the families load what was left of their Christmas into the trunks of their car, as firemen risked their life running in and grabbing what they could salvage while others combated the fires that licked dangerously at their bodies. We called and called, finding families a home for the night, the officers and firemen pooling together their wallets just in case someone didn’t have a place. When the sun broke the dark edge of town and began to rise we finally began loading back into our vehicles and heading back to wherever we were spending Christmas Eve. Home, a patrol car, a firehall, a bed in a EMS bunk room. But none of them complained, none of them faltered; they did what they had to do because it’s what they love to do, and it's what they promised to do.
But who sees that? Who cares? Who’s there standing, brushing soot and tears off of what’s left of a family's Christmas Eve. I’ll tell you who’s not there. The person who shot an officer in the chest for greeting people at a bus stop isn’t there. The person who shot two officers, execution style, in New York isn’t there. The people who call them pigs, the people who care less about their safety aren’t standing there. The people who take officers from their families for some imaginary vengeance aren’t standing there. They’re wherever they want to be on Christmas Eve, while my father, police officers, and all the good souls of the ESU teams risk everything for people they don’t even know. Most don’t see the other side. Most don’t see the things these brave men and women go through on a regular basis. They comfort those who’ve lost everything, even when there are no words that can be said. They hold people’s hand as they walk blindly through the chaos that their life has suddenly become. They comfort children who’ve been given a life they certainly didn’t deserve. They attempt resuscitation for hours on end, even after they’re told there’s no use because they convince themselves that if you don’t come back it’s their fault. They tell you it’s okay and protect you no matter what the cost.
People do bad things. People make bad choices. There is a bad seed in every profession. Doctors who purposefully hurt their patients. Lawyers who let cases go. People who have a position of power, and whose decisions vitally affect someone's life make mistakes. Sometimes, they make choices that deliberately endanger individuals, but unfortunately that’s the life we live in.
It’s OK to be mad.
It’s OK to be upset.
It’s OK to try and fix the problem.
What’s not OK is to target helpless individuals and then turn around and justify it as a movement. What’s not OK is to force a team of officers, many of whom shared their life with the one you targeted, home to a little boy and his mommy and tell them that his father isn’t coming home. What’s not OK is letting kids grow up in a home without their parent simply because you don’t like being told what to do. What’s not OK is that, so far, 35 officers have given their life to protect the life we live, when people can’t even act like a decent human beings towards them. Maybe if they felt the tightening in their chest when a loved one left for work, they wouldn’t act like they do. Maybe if they felt the overwhelming rush of relief when they see everyone come back from a nasty call unharmed, they’d appreciate what it means to their families to see them come home. Maybe they’d appreciate their life, and the life of others a little bit more.
So, the next time you’re faced with a situation involving a police officer, take a second to consider what he’s putting at stake. As a daughter whose father might be the one you’re dealing with, I’m begging you.
