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You're Not A Cop Until You Taste Them
Just Though I would Share
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You're Not A Cop Until You Taste Them
The department was all astir, there was a lot of laughing and joking due to
all the new officers, myself included, hitting the streets today for the
first time. After months of seemingly endless amounts of classes, paperwork,
and lectures we were finally done with the Police Academy and ready to join
the ranks of our department.
All you could see were rows of cadets with huge smiles and polished badges.
As we sat in the briefing room, we could barely sit still anxiously awaiting
our turn to be introduced and given our beat assignment or, for the lay
person, our own portion of the city to "serve and protect."
It was then that he walked in. A statue of a man - 6 foot 3 and 230 pounds of
solid muscle, he had black hair with highlights of gray and steely eyes that
make you feel nervous even when he wasn't looking at you. He had a reputation
for being the biggest and the smartest officer to ever work our fair city. He
had been on the department for longer than anyone could remember and those
years of service had made him into somewhat of a legend.
The new guys, or "rookies" as he called us, both respected and feared him.
When he spoke even, the most seasoned officers paid attention. It was almost
a privilege when one the rookies got to be around when he would tell one of
his police stories about the old days. But we knew our place and never
interrupted for fear of being shooed away. He was respected and revered by
all who knew him.
After my first year on the department I still had never heard or saw him
speak to any of the rookies for any length of time. When he did speak to them
all he would say was, "So, you want to be a policeman do you hero? I'll tell
you what, when you can tell me what they taste like, then you can call
yourself a real policeman."
This particular phrase I had heard dozens of times. Me and my buddies all had
bets about "what they taste like" actually referred to. Some believed it
referred to the taste of your own blood after a hard fight. Others thought it
referred to the taste of sweat after a long day's work. Being on the
department for a year, I thought I knew just about everyone and everything.
So one afternoon, I mustered up the courage and walked up to him. When he
looked down at me, I said "You know, I think I've paid my dues. I've been in
plenty of fights, made dozens of arrests, and sweated my butt off just like
everyone else. So what does that little saying of yours mean anyway?" With
that, he merely stated, "Well, seeing as how you've said and done it all, you
tell me what it means, hero." When I had no answer, he shook his head and
snickered, "rookies," and walked away.
The next evening was to be the worst one to date. The night started out slow,
but as the evening wore on, the calls became more frequent and dangerous. I
made several small arrests and then had a real knock down drag out fight.
However, I was able to make the arrest without hurting the suspect or myself.
After that, I was looking forward to just letting the shift wind down and
getting home to my wife and daughter.
I had just glanced at my watch and it was 11:55, five more minutes and I
would be on my way to the house. I don't know if it was fatigue or just my
imagination, but as I drove down one of the streets on my beat, I thought I
saw my daughter standing on someone else's porch. I looked again but it was
not my daughter as I had first thought but merely a small child about her
age. She was probably only six or seven years old and dressed in an oversized
shirt that hung to her feet. She was clutching an old rag doll in her arms
that looked older than me.
I immediately stopped my patrol car to see what she was doing outside her
house at such an hour by herself. When I approached, there seemed to be a
sigh of relief on her face. I had to laugh to myself, thinking she sees the
hero policeman come to save the day. I knelt at her side and asked what she
was doing outside.
She said "My mommy and daddy just had a really big fight and now mommy won't
wake up." My mind was reeling. Now what do I do? I instantly called for
backup and ran to the nearest window. As I looked inside I saw a man standing
over a lady with his hands covered in blood, her blood. I kicked open the
door, pushed the man aside and checked for a pulse, but unable to find one. I
immediately cuffed the man and began doing CPR on the lady.
It was then I heard a small voice from behind me, "Mr. Policeman, please make
my mommy wake up." I continued to perform CPR until my backup and medics
arrived but they said it was too late. She was dead.
I then looked at the man. He said, "I don't know what happened. She was
yelling at me to stop drinking and go get a job and I had just had enough. I
just shoved her so she would leave me alone and she fell and hit her head."
As I walked the man out to the car in handcuffs, I again saw that little
girl. In the five minutes that has passed, I went from hero to monster. Not
only was I unable to wake up her mommy, but now I was taking daddy away too.
Before I left the scene, I thought I would talk to the little girl. To say
what, I don't know. Maybe just to tell her I was sorry about her mommy and
daddy. But as I approached, she turned away and I knew it was useless and I
would probably make it worse.
As I sat in the locker room at the station, I kept replaying the whole thing
in my mind. Maybe if I would have been faster or done something different,
just maybe that little girl would still have her mother. And even though it
may sound selfish, I would still be the hero.
It was then that I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I heard that all too
familiar question again, "Well, hero, what do they taste like?"
But before I could get mad or shout some sarcastic remark, I realized that
all the pent up emotions had flooded the surface and there was a steady
stream of tears cascading down my face. It was at that moment that I realized
what the answer to his question was.
Tears.
With that, he began to walk away, but he stopped. "You know, there was
nothing you could have done differently," he said. "Sometimes you can do
everything right and still the outcome is the same. STAND TALL , STAND PROUD
WELCOME TO THE SACRED WORLD OF 'A POLICE OFFICER'."
May G-d bless you keep you safe, and always keep you in His loving care.
Compliments of your Police Chaplain
***********************************************
You're Not A Cop Until You Taste Them
The department was all astir, there was a lot of laughing and joking due to
all the new officers, myself included, hitting the streets today for the
first time. After months of seemingly endless amounts of classes, paperwork,
and lectures we were finally done with the Police Academy and ready to join
the ranks of our department.
All you could see were rows of cadets with huge smiles and polished badges.
As we sat in the briefing room, we could barely sit still anxiously awaiting
our turn to be introduced and given our beat assignment or, for the lay
person, our own portion of the city to "serve and protect."
It was then that he walked in. A statue of a man - 6 foot 3 and 230 pounds of
solid muscle, he had black hair with highlights of gray and steely eyes that
make you feel nervous even when he wasn't looking at you. He had a reputation
for being the biggest and the smartest officer to ever work our fair city. He
had been on the department for longer than anyone could remember and those
years of service had made him into somewhat of a legend.
The new guys, or "rookies" as he called us, both respected and feared him.
When he spoke even, the most seasoned officers paid attention. It was almost
a privilege when one the rookies got to be around when he would tell one of
his police stories about the old days. But we knew our place and never
interrupted for fear of being shooed away. He was respected and revered by
all who knew him.
After my first year on the department I still had never heard or saw him
speak to any of the rookies for any length of time. When he did speak to them
all he would say was, "So, you want to be a policeman do you hero? I'll tell
you what, when you can tell me what they taste like, then you can call
yourself a real policeman."
This particular phrase I had heard dozens of times. Me and my buddies all had
bets about "what they taste like" actually referred to. Some believed it
referred to the taste of your own blood after a hard fight. Others thought it
referred to the taste of sweat after a long day's work. Being on the
department for a year, I thought I knew just about everyone and everything.
So one afternoon, I mustered up the courage and walked up to him. When he
looked down at me, I said "You know, I think I've paid my dues. I've been in
plenty of fights, made dozens of arrests, and sweated my butt off just like
everyone else. So what does that little saying of yours mean anyway?" With
that, he merely stated, "Well, seeing as how you've said and done it all, you
tell me what it means, hero." When I had no answer, he shook his head and
snickered, "rookies," and walked away.
The next evening was to be the worst one to date. The night started out slow,
but as the evening wore on, the calls became more frequent and dangerous. I
made several small arrests and then had a real knock down drag out fight.
However, I was able to make the arrest without hurting the suspect or myself.
After that, I was looking forward to just letting the shift wind down and
getting home to my wife and daughter.
I had just glanced at my watch and it was 11:55, five more minutes and I
would be on my way to the house. I don't know if it was fatigue or just my
imagination, but as I drove down one of the streets on my beat, I thought I
saw my daughter standing on someone else's porch. I looked again but it was
not my daughter as I had first thought but merely a small child about her
age. She was probably only six or seven years old and dressed in an oversized
shirt that hung to her feet. She was clutching an old rag doll in her arms
that looked older than me.
I immediately stopped my patrol car to see what she was doing outside her
house at such an hour by herself. When I approached, there seemed to be a
sigh of relief on her face. I had to laugh to myself, thinking she sees the
hero policeman come to save the day. I knelt at her side and asked what she
was doing outside.
She said "My mommy and daddy just had a really big fight and now mommy won't
wake up." My mind was reeling. Now what do I do? I instantly called for
backup and ran to the nearest window. As I looked inside I saw a man standing
over a lady with his hands covered in blood, her blood. I kicked open the
door, pushed the man aside and checked for a pulse, but unable to find one. I
immediately cuffed the man and began doing CPR on the lady.
It was then I heard a small voice from behind me, "Mr. Policeman, please make
my mommy wake up." I continued to perform CPR until my backup and medics
arrived but they said it was too late. She was dead.
I then looked at the man. He said, "I don't know what happened. She was
yelling at me to stop drinking and go get a job and I had just had enough. I
just shoved her so she would leave me alone and she fell and hit her head."
As I walked the man out to the car in handcuffs, I again saw that little
girl. In the five minutes that has passed, I went from hero to monster. Not
only was I unable to wake up her mommy, but now I was taking daddy away too.
Before I left the scene, I thought I would talk to the little girl. To say
what, I don't know. Maybe just to tell her I was sorry about her mommy and
daddy. But as I approached, she turned away and I knew it was useless and I
would probably make it worse.
As I sat in the locker room at the station, I kept replaying the whole thing
in my mind. Maybe if I would have been faster or done something different,
just maybe that little girl would still have her mother. And even though it
may sound selfish, I would still be the hero.
It was then that I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I heard that all too
familiar question again, "Well, hero, what do they taste like?"
But before I could get mad or shout some sarcastic remark, I realized that
all the pent up emotions had flooded the surface and there was a steady
stream of tears cascading down my face. It was at that moment that I realized
what the answer to his question was.
Tears.
With that, he began to walk away, but he stopped. "You know, there was
nothing you could have done differently," he said. "Sometimes you can do
everything right and still the outcome is the same. STAND TALL , STAND PROUD
WELCOME TO THE SACRED WORLD OF 'A POLICE OFFICER'."
May G-d bless you keep you safe, and always keep you in His loving care.
Compliments of your Police Chaplain
