Katrina Day
I decree August 29th to forever be called Katrina Day in the city of New Orleans.
We shall not work on this day but pray prayers of thanksgiving, share a community moment of silence, the have a Festival of Joy.
It will be a day of homecoming as all of the diaspora of New Orleans can come home on this day to reconnect with our first love, New Orleans, because surely no one else knows what it means to miss her.
So be it.
Live and Learn. Subscribe to free health information.
http://ow.ly/1z4ta0
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Monday, August 26, 2013
Intersection
In order for a person to make the changes they need to make in their lives, three roads must converge. The 'Power to Change Street' must cross the 'Desire to Change Boulevard' as it intersects with the 'Opportunity to Change Avenue'.
Live and Learn. Subscribe to free health information.
http://ow.ly/1z4ta0
Live and Learn. Subscribe to free health information.
http://ow.ly/1z4ta0
The Curse
The Curse
I visited my aunt and talked about my dad, my uncle and my cousins. We talked about our collective inability to sustain meaningful relationships with women. We decided that there is a family curse on the males of our family. Somehow, no matter the circumstance and how hard I try, I always seem to make the wrong decisions when it comes to women. This manifests itself in various forms from making the wrong selections, not making any selection, staying in the relationship too long, getting in the relationship to begin with, committing too soon, not committing at all and a host of various other manifestations never doing the right thing at the right time with the right person...such is the curse. I am still looking for a cure or at least a support group to help ease the burden.
Written by:
@ewjjr
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
-----
Bring A Smile To Someone's Day
http://ow.ly/1z4j1b
I visited my aunt and talked about my dad, my uncle and my cousins. We talked about our collective inability to sustain meaningful relationships with women. We decided that there is a family curse on the males of our family. Somehow, no matter the circumstance and how hard I try, I always seem to make the wrong decisions when it comes to women. This manifests itself in various forms from making the wrong selections, not making any selection, staying in the relationship too long, getting in the relationship to begin with, committing too soon, not committing at all and a host of various other manifestations never doing the right thing at the right time with the right person...such is the curse. I am still looking for a cure or at least a support group to help ease the burden.
Written by:
@ewjjr
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
-----
Bring A Smile To Someone's Day
http://ow.ly/1z4j1b
Friday, August 23, 2013
Asset
Peace of mind is the most valuable asset. Cultivate it carefully so that there will be a rich supply. Guard it diligently so that it is never lost or stolen.
Live and Learn. Subscribe to free health information.
http://ow.ly/1z4ta0
Live and Learn. Subscribe to free health information.
http://ow.ly/1z4ta0
Monday, August 19, 2013
The Good Neighbor
The Good Neighbor
You get to a point in your life when death becomes personal. I remember the first time this happened to me. It was when 'Moo Moo' died. She was a 'friend of the family' of a friend of mine. I was touched by her death because 'Moo Moo' was a contemporary of mine. 'Moo Moo' was someone I had seen often and had talked to often. Somehow, I don't even know why, her death seemed connected to the reality of my own death.
Certainly, death had touched my life before that. My grandmother when I was about 8. Cathy died in her sleep when I was about 10. Marcia and her best friend drowned together when I was in high school. Renette from across the street died from a brain tumor. My roommate flipped his car while he was drinking when I was in the Navy. Then there was Raynetta's husband who just sat down one day and keeled over.
So, I was no stranger to the reality of death in my life. The difference is that until, 'Moo Moo', death seemed to happen to other people and I was never left with its reality as a constant companion. Now this is coming from a person who had knowingly escaped the clutches of death on two occasions.
First, was when I almost drowned at summer camp when I was about 9. Some of the other boys decided they would teach me how to swim by holding me under water. I guess they thought I would grown gills or something. Needless to say the actual length I could endure this lesson was much shorter than the class was scheduled for and I began to take on water. I sincerely thought I could drink enough to last just long enough until the lesson would end but after a few swallows one realizes the futility of such a strategy. I thrashed and fought as best I could but they would not relent. I did the one thing that most people dying do, I called for my "mama". Then it happened! I surrendered my mind to the certainty of my own death. Then, and only then, did I feel a peace and serenity come over me and I accepted what seemed to be my most certain outcome. I remember thinking to myself, "This isn't so bad." It is ironic that just at that point God sent me an angel. His name was Bernard Jordan. He jumped in the pool and ended my swimming lesson by forcefully removing my teachers from the class. I was grateful to be alive, but knew I was ready to make the eternal journey clothed in that peace and serenity I had received. I wonder what would have come next if Angel Bernard would not have been there? Would I have seen the 'Light'? Would I have begun my 'Life Review'? Probably so. I remember reading that soldiers in World War II who had frozen to death were often found with smiles and peaceful expressions on their faces. I think this is the final 'gift' that life gives to you to help you deal with the realization of your own impending demise. Your very own personal administration of gall to help assuage the sting of death. Then comes that walk into the 'Light' that begins your journey into the next phase of your eternal existence.
But even then, the reality of death did not stay with me. Its nearness that day did not seem to affect me. I don't even recall telling anyone about it that day.
Second, was in August of 1979 when Al Skinner died in my place. I say that because at the last minute a decision was made that changed the recipient of death. When I was in the Navy I would often have to travel. And on one occasion I met a gentleman who invited me to church with him one night. I accepted his invitation and was picked up by him in his two door VW bug. We also picked up Al Skinner. I remember Al Skinner as a vibrant older man who seemed to love God fervently. We attended church and afterward went to the car to leave. On the way there I had sat in the front. So, as the car door was opened I hesitated. I actually stopped and thought about which seat in the car I should sit in. I decided in that moment that I would let Al Skinner sit in the front and I would find some comfort in the rear seat. As we drove we observed a young white man about 19 years old, with sandy brown hair and a face too worn for his apparent age, who was hitch-hiking on the side of the onramp to the highway. I remember he had on a faded red shirt. This was back in the days when it was still OK to pick up hitch-hikers and the driver, in his evangelistic fervor, suggested we give the guy a ride and pulled into that section of the roadway between the onramp and the main highway. The young man ran over to the vehicle and Al Skinner got out to let the man into the rear seat with me. As I looked up and moved over, there was an explosion of noise and motion. The next thing I remember was seeing the young man, in his red shirt, and Al Skinner, in his yellow shirt, laying in the roadway...dead! The passenger side door of the car had been peeled to the front, right where they had been standing, as we had been side swiped by what I was told to be a drunk driver. At one point, I remember seeing the lady who had hit us sitting in her car frozen behind the steering wheel. I don't know what ever happened to her. But that was back in the days when not much happened to drunk drivers. To this day I am very squeamish about stopping my car on the highway.
That one sent me for a loop because I thought about how close I had come to being the one who would have been out of the car letting the young man in. I had minor head wounds from debris in the car and that was back in the days when they kept you in the hospital for 'observation' for days at a time. So I had plenty of time to think about life and my purpose in it. Those thoughts lingered for months as I tried to understand the why's, why nots and what nexts of the situation I had gone through. I wish I could tell you I had some great revelation that has redirected my life from that point on but that was not the case.
But even then, the reality of death did not stay with me. Its nearness that day did affect me to the point that I was concerned about it, but I was more concerned about the meaning of its visitation than its actual visit.
That all changed for me after 'Moo Moo'. My own mortality became a constant companion for me when she died. It was the first time I realized there was an actual END for me too. That reality sunk in hard that day. It was as though death had become that nasty neighbor who moves in next door. You know the one you see moving their stuff in and you just feel a sense of dread that they have moved in next to you. Though not in your house you can hear what they are doing all of the time and they take up residence in your mind. From time to time you see them but you don't dare speak. Not even the usual cordialities because you really don't want to give them a reason to become your friend or, God forbid, think it is OK to come over and visit.
Since 'Moo Moo' there has been a Mardi Gras procession of people I have known who have died. There was Yolanda, a unique passion in my life; then there was 'Man' and his brother 'Tiger', mere children cut down by the violence of urban crime; then there was Sam Poole, a class mate, a co-worker and a friend and then there was Tommy Felix, a friend and co-worker whose death created a void in many people's lives; then Linda lost her only begotten son in the war and just the other day it was Keith, Vicky’s husband and best friend. Death is very busy and extremely proficient at what it does.
Somehow though, I think as time goes on people begin to accept their unwanted neighbor's presence in their lives. They greet death as it goes about its business and they go about theirs. Death no longer looks so strange to them. Death does not appear to be so weird anymore. I think you begin to accept your neighbor's purpose in you life. I think in time, your neighbor becomes your friend. I think this is when people look death in the face and are not afraid. I think this is when people look death in the eyes and see its purpose and their destiny in it. I think this is when people see death for what it is, merely an escort across the bridge to the next life where death is not allowed to go. Death may even be jealous of that fact.
Most elderly people can sense and fear their death. It is palpable and real to them. Their age takes away any illusion of the immortality and invincibility we feel when we are young. Most times elderly people have a peace about their own deaths because they have given themselves time to reconcile with it. But the end is and has always been near to us. Death has always been, and always is, just a moment away. But death knows its business. Death knows its time and will not approach prematurely. So there is no need to fear death. And in time, you too can calmly greet it, welcome it and embrace it...like a good neighbor.
Written by:
@ewjjr
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
-----
Bring A Smile To Someone's Day
http://ow.ly/1z4j1b
You get to a point in your life when death becomes personal. I remember the first time this happened to me. It was when 'Moo Moo' died. She was a 'friend of the family' of a friend of mine. I was touched by her death because 'Moo Moo' was a contemporary of mine. 'Moo Moo' was someone I had seen often and had talked to often. Somehow, I don't even know why, her death seemed connected to the reality of my own death.
Certainly, death had touched my life before that. My grandmother when I was about 8. Cathy died in her sleep when I was about 10. Marcia and her best friend drowned together when I was in high school. Renette from across the street died from a brain tumor. My roommate flipped his car while he was drinking when I was in the Navy. Then there was Raynetta's husband who just sat down one day and keeled over.
So, I was no stranger to the reality of death in my life. The difference is that until, 'Moo Moo', death seemed to happen to other people and I was never left with its reality as a constant companion. Now this is coming from a person who had knowingly escaped the clutches of death on two occasions.
First, was when I almost drowned at summer camp when I was about 9. Some of the other boys decided they would teach me how to swim by holding me under water. I guess they thought I would grown gills or something. Needless to say the actual length I could endure this lesson was much shorter than the class was scheduled for and I began to take on water. I sincerely thought I could drink enough to last just long enough until the lesson would end but after a few swallows one realizes the futility of such a strategy. I thrashed and fought as best I could but they would not relent. I did the one thing that most people dying do, I called for my "mama". Then it happened! I surrendered my mind to the certainty of my own death. Then, and only then, did I feel a peace and serenity come over me and I accepted what seemed to be my most certain outcome. I remember thinking to myself, "This isn't so bad." It is ironic that just at that point God sent me an angel. His name was Bernard Jordan. He jumped in the pool and ended my swimming lesson by forcefully removing my teachers from the class. I was grateful to be alive, but knew I was ready to make the eternal journey clothed in that peace and serenity I had received. I wonder what would have come next if Angel Bernard would not have been there? Would I have seen the 'Light'? Would I have begun my 'Life Review'? Probably so. I remember reading that soldiers in World War II who had frozen to death were often found with smiles and peaceful expressions on their faces. I think this is the final 'gift' that life gives to you to help you deal with the realization of your own impending demise. Your very own personal administration of gall to help assuage the sting of death. Then comes that walk into the 'Light' that begins your journey into the next phase of your eternal existence.
But even then, the reality of death did not stay with me. Its nearness that day did not seem to affect me. I don't even recall telling anyone about it that day.
Second, was in August of 1979 when Al Skinner died in my place. I say that because at the last minute a decision was made that changed the recipient of death. When I was in the Navy I would often have to travel. And on one occasion I met a gentleman who invited me to church with him one night. I accepted his invitation and was picked up by him in his two door VW bug. We also picked up Al Skinner. I remember Al Skinner as a vibrant older man who seemed to love God fervently. We attended church and afterward went to the car to leave. On the way there I had sat in the front. So, as the car door was opened I hesitated. I actually stopped and thought about which seat in the car I should sit in. I decided in that moment that I would let Al Skinner sit in the front and I would find some comfort in the rear seat. As we drove we observed a young white man about 19 years old, with sandy brown hair and a face too worn for his apparent age, who was hitch-hiking on the side of the onramp to the highway. I remember he had on a faded red shirt. This was back in the days when it was still OK to pick up hitch-hikers and the driver, in his evangelistic fervor, suggested we give the guy a ride and pulled into that section of the roadway between the onramp and the main highway. The young man ran over to the vehicle and Al Skinner got out to let the man into the rear seat with me. As I looked up and moved over, there was an explosion of noise and motion. The next thing I remember was seeing the young man, in his red shirt, and Al Skinner, in his yellow shirt, laying in the roadway...dead! The passenger side door of the car had been peeled to the front, right where they had been standing, as we had been side swiped by what I was told to be a drunk driver. At one point, I remember seeing the lady who had hit us sitting in her car frozen behind the steering wheel. I don't know what ever happened to her. But that was back in the days when not much happened to drunk drivers. To this day I am very squeamish about stopping my car on the highway.
That one sent me for a loop because I thought about how close I had come to being the one who would have been out of the car letting the young man in. I had minor head wounds from debris in the car and that was back in the days when they kept you in the hospital for 'observation' for days at a time. So I had plenty of time to think about life and my purpose in it. Those thoughts lingered for months as I tried to understand the why's, why nots and what nexts of the situation I had gone through. I wish I could tell you I had some great revelation that has redirected my life from that point on but that was not the case.
But even then, the reality of death did not stay with me. Its nearness that day did affect me to the point that I was concerned about it, but I was more concerned about the meaning of its visitation than its actual visit.
That all changed for me after 'Moo Moo'. My own mortality became a constant companion for me when she died. It was the first time I realized there was an actual END for me too. That reality sunk in hard that day. It was as though death had become that nasty neighbor who moves in next door. You know the one you see moving their stuff in and you just feel a sense of dread that they have moved in next to you. Though not in your house you can hear what they are doing all of the time and they take up residence in your mind. From time to time you see them but you don't dare speak. Not even the usual cordialities because you really don't want to give them a reason to become your friend or, God forbid, think it is OK to come over and visit.
Since 'Moo Moo' there has been a Mardi Gras procession of people I have known who have died. There was Yolanda, a unique passion in my life; then there was 'Man' and his brother 'Tiger', mere children cut down by the violence of urban crime; then there was Sam Poole, a class mate, a co-worker and a friend and then there was Tommy Felix, a friend and co-worker whose death created a void in many people's lives; then Linda lost her only begotten son in the war and just the other day it was Keith, Vicky’s husband and best friend. Death is very busy and extremely proficient at what it does.
Somehow though, I think as time goes on people begin to accept their unwanted neighbor's presence in their lives. They greet death as it goes about its business and they go about theirs. Death no longer looks so strange to them. Death does not appear to be so weird anymore. I think you begin to accept your neighbor's purpose in you life. I think in time, your neighbor becomes your friend. I think this is when people look death in the face and are not afraid. I think this is when people look death in the eyes and see its purpose and their destiny in it. I think this is when people see death for what it is, merely an escort across the bridge to the next life where death is not allowed to go. Death may even be jealous of that fact.
Most elderly people can sense and fear their death. It is palpable and real to them. Their age takes away any illusion of the immortality and invincibility we feel when we are young. Most times elderly people have a peace about their own deaths because they have given themselves time to reconcile with it. But the end is and has always been near to us. Death has always been, and always is, just a moment away. But death knows its business. Death knows its time and will not approach prematurely. So there is no need to fear death. And in time, you too can calmly greet it, welcome it and embrace it...like a good neighbor.
Written by:
@ewjjr
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
-----
Bring A Smile To Someone's Day
http://ow.ly/1z4j1b
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Fog
Fog is like the blanket I used to put over my head when I was a kid...nobody sees me.
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
Live and Learn. Subscribe to free health information.
http://ow.ly/1z4ta0
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
Live and Learn. Subscribe to free health information.
http://ow.ly/1z4ta0
Monday, August 12, 2013
Accuracy
With information, it is not a matter of being right or wrong. 'Wrong' wreaks of deception and 'Right' carries the stench of being judgmental. What matters is accuracy!
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
-----
Bring A Smile To Someone's Day
http://ow.ly/1z4j1b
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
-----
Bring A Smile To Someone's Day
http://ow.ly/1z4j1b
Sunday, August 11, 2013
The Office Visit
The Office Visit
I had my “exam” today. Yeah, it is the yearly exam that takes me 18 months to do. I need the extra 6 months to get my courage up. As I waited for the doctor the thought came to my mind that if my son came home and told me he wanted to be a doctor, I would probably be happy and encourage him. But what if he also told me he wanted to be a urologist? Would I start to wonder about him then? I mean really, what kind of guy wants to spend his time looking up the rectums of other men? A gay guy that’s who!
If you think about it, you see that the whole urology thing is a play world for them. Why do you have to access and examine the function of a man’s sex organs through his anus? Now think about it girls. When you go to the gynecologist do they bend you over and look up your butt? Of course not! It just would not make sense. Every thing you need to see is in the front, not the back. So why does it make sense to bend us over? There is really no logical explanation for it other than the whole specialty is geared toward the gratification of gay men. Are there any female urologists? We need some.
But as I continued to ponder, I was comforted only by the memory of the last time I had my exam. It was over in seconds. I had told myself it would be alright as I had remembered the doctor as being a very professional and no nonsense type of guy. He came in, got right to business and it was over before I had the opportunity to feel any shame or embarrassment about the situation. I looked forward to the same thing.
However, to my chagrin, a new guy appeared in the room. Suddenly I felt myself feeling nervous and scared as sweat began to trickle from my armpits and down my sides. He was a younger man with a high pitched voice. A high pitched voice! I thought, “This is how they get you.” It’s the old bait and switch, but with a more sinister agenda. The first doctor was the “indoctrination” doctor. He is the one that gets you comfortable so you will come back again. Then they slip this guy in on you, the effeminate one with the limp thermometer and extra long fingers. He is the “initiation” doctor. He asks you, with a subtle lisp, “Are you ready?” It is too late to run out. I saw the head nurse and she was much too big for me to maneuver around. So now what do I do? Suddenly, I had a flash back to a scene from that documentary, “Scared Straight” where one of the convicts talked about the possibility of being gang raped in prison. He said you try to fight them off and if you can’t fight them off you just have to “take it like a man.” Take it like a man?!
“Drop ‘em!” he said forcefully. SNAP, SNAP, was the sound of the gloves as he eagerly put them on and ran to the medicine cabinet for his assistant, Mister KY! I began to feel like I was on the wrong end of a Dominatrix experience. I was compelled, by his authority, to heed his command. I felt so weak, so vulnerable. Then it happened. He put it in. That long, slender foreign invader he called a finger. Deeper and deeper he probed. It was as though I could feel every wrinkle on his skin and every curve of his knuckles. Yes knuckles! Could his finger really be in that far? I was beginning to wonder exactly what it was I was really being probed with. Had I been victimized by the ultimate bait and switch? I felt so violated, so beaten. All he had to do was slap me and say, “Who’s your daddy?” I would have whimpered, “You’re my daddy, daddy.” Deeper and deeper he probed. He twisted it and turned it as though in search of something lost long ago. The more it twisted, the more it turned and the deeper he probed, the more it seemed my manliness and dignity slipped away from me.
Then suddenly, he was done! I turned around only to see the blue blur of his scrubs as he fled the room like a criminal leaving the scene of a crime. He was gone and I was left there standing with my pants around my ankles, KY jelly in the deepest recesses of my anus and a stream of toilet paper in my quivering hand. It took all of my remaining strength and self esteem to keep from crying. I got cleaned up as best I could. However, I could still feel the squishy KY jelly between my butt cheeks as I slinked pass the nurse. She looked at me and smirked, as if to say, “Got another one.” I hung my head and left the office.
When I got home I showered for over an hour, wondering. Wondering…will he call me?
Written by:
@ewjjr
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
-----
Bring A Smile To Someone's Day
http://ow.ly/1z4j1b
I had my “exam” today. Yeah, it is the yearly exam that takes me 18 months to do. I need the extra 6 months to get my courage up. As I waited for the doctor the thought came to my mind that if my son came home and told me he wanted to be a doctor, I would probably be happy and encourage him. But what if he also told me he wanted to be a urologist? Would I start to wonder about him then? I mean really, what kind of guy wants to spend his time looking up the rectums of other men? A gay guy that’s who!
If you think about it, you see that the whole urology thing is a play world for them. Why do you have to access and examine the function of a man’s sex organs through his anus? Now think about it girls. When you go to the gynecologist do they bend you over and look up your butt? Of course not! It just would not make sense. Every thing you need to see is in the front, not the back. So why does it make sense to bend us over? There is really no logical explanation for it other than the whole specialty is geared toward the gratification of gay men. Are there any female urologists? We need some.
But as I continued to ponder, I was comforted only by the memory of the last time I had my exam. It was over in seconds. I had told myself it would be alright as I had remembered the doctor as being a very professional and no nonsense type of guy. He came in, got right to business and it was over before I had the opportunity to feel any shame or embarrassment about the situation. I looked forward to the same thing.
However, to my chagrin, a new guy appeared in the room. Suddenly I felt myself feeling nervous and scared as sweat began to trickle from my armpits and down my sides. He was a younger man with a high pitched voice. A high pitched voice! I thought, “This is how they get you.” It’s the old bait and switch, but with a more sinister agenda. The first doctor was the “indoctrination” doctor. He is the one that gets you comfortable so you will come back again. Then they slip this guy in on you, the effeminate one with the limp thermometer and extra long fingers. He is the “initiation” doctor. He asks you, with a subtle lisp, “Are you ready?” It is too late to run out. I saw the head nurse and she was much too big for me to maneuver around. So now what do I do? Suddenly, I had a flash back to a scene from that documentary, “Scared Straight” where one of the convicts talked about the possibility of being gang raped in prison. He said you try to fight them off and if you can’t fight them off you just have to “take it like a man.” Take it like a man?!
“Drop ‘em!” he said forcefully. SNAP, SNAP, was the sound of the gloves as he eagerly put them on and ran to the medicine cabinet for his assistant, Mister KY! I began to feel like I was on the wrong end of a Dominatrix experience. I was compelled, by his authority, to heed his command. I felt so weak, so vulnerable. Then it happened. He put it in. That long, slender foreign invader he called a finger. Deeper and deeper he probed. It was as though I could feel every wrinkle on his skin and every curve of his knuckles. Yes knuckles! Could his finger really be in that far? I was beginning to wonder exactly what it was I was really being probed with. Had I been victimized by the ultimate bait and switch? I felt so violated, so beaten. All he had to do was slap me and say, “Who’s your daddy?” I would have whimpered, “You’re my daddy, daddy.” Deeper and deeper he probed. He twisted it and turned it as though in search of something lost long ago. The more it twisted, the more it turned and the deeper he probed, the more it seemed my manliness and dignity slipped away from me.
Then suddenly, he was done! I turned around only to see the blue blur of his scrubs as he fled the room like a criminal leaving the scene of a crime. He was gone and I was left there standing with my pants around my ankles, KY jelly in the deepest recesses of my anus and a stream of toilet paper in my quivering hand. It took all of my remaining strength and self esteem to keep from crying. I got cleaned up as best I could. However, I could still feel the squishy KY jelly between my butt cheeks as I slinked pass the nurse. She looked at me and smirked, as if to say, “Got another one.” I hung my head and left the office.
When I got home I showered for over an hour, wondering. Wondering…will he call me?
Written by:
@ewjjr
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
-----
Bring A Smile To Someone's Day
http://ow.ly/1z4j1b
Monday, August 5, 2013
THEY CALL ME MR. PO PO
“BEING A POLICE OFFICER” or “THEY CALL ME MR. PO PO”
Someone asked me to share with them what it means to be a police officer. This is what I say….
When you first become a police officer, you think you are really going to make a difference. You feel like your presence on the street is going to bring peace to a chaotic situation, justice to an unfair world and light to all the dark places of evil in the city. Lofty and noble goals indeed, but that is how you feel inside. It is this dream that propels you as you endure both the physical, mental, emotional and financial hardships of training. It is this dream and the enduring of such hardship that makes you proud, your family proud and even some of your friends proud about your achievement. It is this dream that compels you to take on a job that asks the ultimate sacrifice from you yet, by comparison, compensates you so little. In spite of knowing that police officers work demanding hours, die earlier and have more failed relationships than the general public you still want the job. Why?
That is just it. Being a police officer is more than just a job, it is a calling. The values and beliefs of a free society determines the laws it develops for itself. The laws provide a boundary which sets limitations on and guidelines for individual and group behavior within a society in order to maintain social order and peace; provide for the safety of its citizens and their property and protect the rights of individuals afforded them by their government. The police are the guardians of the free function of a society who maintain or restore the order and peace of a society through the unbiased enforcement of its laws or through the sound application of its values and beliefs to achieve the purpose of the law. The police officer holds an office of public trust within a society and is a representative of the values and beliefs of that society. Therefore the police officer is expected, by the citizens of a society, to be the personification and embodiment of its values and beliefs, an equitable and just administrator of its laws and a model for the law abiding citizen to emulate.
As a new officer you are full of “piss and vinegar” as the old guys will tell you. You want to run after everything that runs, while the old guys tell you, “Let the radio catch ‘em.” You want to go through the doors first and drive the police car fast, with the lights and sirens blaring of course. Otherwise, what is the point? The old guys will tell you to still stop at every red light though. At roll call you want to look the best you can and at the end of the day you want to have made the most arrests, the most traffic stops, the most pedestrian stops and wrote the most traffic tickets. All, of course, in the most dangerous parts of your patrol area.
But then reality begins to set in quite quickly when you realize that most of police work is actually driving from place to place meeting with citizens who have complaints and problems that need to be written down in a police report. It is ironic that the one thing you spend the most time doing, you probably gave the least importance to while you were in training. After all, how glamorous is writing a police report?
As time goes on, the reports began to sound the same. Sure the people are different, but the problems and the complaints are the same. Could it be that all of these people share the same struggles and hardships. Can it be that they all share the same inability to solve the own problems without the intervention of an outside authority in their lives. Maybe it is that they have so become accustomed to “the government” doing everything for them that they just don’t have the desire to do for themselves. They look to “the government” to tell them how to be married, get unmarried, raise their children, be kind to their neighbors and have more respect for themselves. And since the police officer is the first line of “the government” these people see, we get the pleasure of having those types of conversations multiple times a day. Such a continuous flood of repetitive conversations about the same solvable “unsolvable problems”, with seemingly the same people, wears you down. It creates apathy and some disdain for the very people you thought you wanted to help in the first place.
This jaded position is certainly unrealistic because, in fact, most of the people in the community are not calling you with these “unsolvable problems” as they know how to effectively navigate life without the over involvement of “the government”. But those people never call. No one ever calls you to come to their house to see how well Little Johnny is doing in school. No one ever calls you to come over to their house to see how well their marriage is going. No one ever calls to show you that none of their worldly possessions have disappeared overnight. And certainly no one ever calls you over to their house just to say thank you. But then that is not what you were called to do. You were called “to protect and to serve” so just shut up and do it. For the most part, police work is a difficult and thankless job. But every now and then, something happens or you come in contact with someone who makes it all worth while.
Of course, the other aspect of police work is dealing with the criminals themselves. Contrary to the citizens, these people really don’t want to see you. They don’t call and they prefer to handle their own problems their own way. That would be fine and dandy except that their ways of coping and conflict resolution are the major reasons your job exists in the first place. I often have marveled at how much time, energy and talent criminals put into their escapades. It seems to me that the same amount of the same resources would have paid off in legitimate arenas and thus would have nullified the necessity of any future negative interaction with “the government”. After a period of time of seeing the blood, pain, tears, fears, dead bodies and broken lives, you just wag your head and ask “Why?” Each time you ask, you have a different answer. Is it the fact that the father is gone? Is the fact that the mother has to be absent at work? Is the fact that the children have to live in survival mode all of the time? Is it their environment? Is it the lack of religious training? Is it peer pressure? Is it a lack of education? Is it a combination of all of the above? You don’t really know, so you just keep wagging your head.
After a while, it doesn’t really matter. Someone will ask you who is that laying dead on the ground? You don’t know because you never took time to notice. He is just another 15 to 25 year old male who was killed. Same as the one two days ago. Same as the two a week ago. Same as the three a month ago. After awhile, they all seem the same. You just grow numb. Numb to the blood on the streets, numb to the pain and suffering, numb to the tears of the mothers, numb to the fears of the little children, numb to the sight of all the dead bodies and numb to the trail of broken lives such things leave behind as well as create. It is as though a part of your own humanity has died with them.
It is the repetitive nature of crime that gives it such a sense of permanence as to make you feel like all your efforts to prevent it are in vain. No matter how hard you try or how many you put in jail, there will always be another one to take the place of the one you put away. In most instances, due to the way the justice system works, the same criminals are freed and free to perpetrate the same crimes. Can you imagine how disheartening it is to, at great peril to yourself, apprehend a criminal only to see him in the same spot you arrested him in just a week later? Can you imagine how disheartening it is to see a criminal’s rap sheet and read multiple murder charges and robbery charges? Why is he free? After awhile you figure, “What is the use?” There will always be more of them than us. They stay the same age, 15 to 25, as we just grow older. They have the advantage in numbers, they have the advantage in the courts and they have the advantage on the streets. Or do they?
In reality, they do not! We perceive them to be everywhere at all times because we hear about them the most on the news. They appear to be all powerful because we are often reminded on the news of the dreadful things they are capable of. They appear to be invincible because most of our singular efforts to contain, control or eliminate them are often thwarted. It is this singular approach that gives them power and increases their number. I am reminded of the saying, “All that is needed for evil to flourish is for good people to do nothing.” Well while we are not just doing nothing, perhaps we could work more closer together to get better results. The fact is that the good citizens, the police and the court system are infinitely more powerful than any group of criminals. It takes a cooperative, determined and unified partnership to defeat crime and its affects on our society. Policing should not be relegated to just a few souls who complete the training and hold the sworn office. Policing is an involved community effort and the police officer is merely the enforcement and apprehension arm of this effort. And in a more than symbolic gesture of the gavel, the court system should serve to lower the boom on criminals and remove them from the citizenry. It is only as this partnership works we will began to get a grip on crime and gain the advantage. And as we do, we can began to make a difference in changing the causative factors that lead up to criminal activity. But it will take all of us families, clergy, social organizations, business groups, professional groups, retirees, activists, blue collar workers, white collar workers and no collar workers to get involved and make a difference.
So if you really want to know what it means to be a police officer, look in your mirror and ask yourself, “What police work have I done today?” You are the police!
Written by:
@ewjjr
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
--------
Someone asked me to share with them what it means to be a police officer. This is what I say….
When you first become a police officer, you think you are really going to make a difference. You feel like your presence on the street is going to bring peace to a chaotic situation, justice to an unfair world and light to all the dark places of evil in the city. Lofty and noble goals indeed, but that is how you feel inside. It is this dream that propels you as you endure both the physical, mental, emotional and financial hardships of training. It is this dream and the enduring of such hardship that makes you proud, your family proud and even some of your friends proud about your achievement. It is this dream that compels you to take on a job that asks the ultimate sacrifice from you yet, by comparison, compensates you so little. In spite of knowing that police officers work demanding hours, die earlier and have more failed relationships than the general public you still want the job. Why?
That is just it. Being a police officer is more than just a job, it is a calling. The values and beliefs of a free society determines the laws it develops for itself. The laws provide a boundary which sets limitations on and guidelines for individual and group behavior within a society in order to maintain social order and peace; provide for the safety of its citizens and their property and protect the rights of individuals afforded them by their government. The police are the guardians of the free function of a society who maintain or restore the order and peace of a society through the unbiased enforcement of its laws or through the sound application of its values and beliefs to achieve the purpose of the law. The police officer holds an office of public trust within a society and is a representative of the values and beliefs of that society. Therefore the police officer is expected, by the citizens of a society, to be the personification and embodiment of its values and beliefs, an equitable and just administrator of its laws and a model for the law abiding citizen to emulate.
As a new officer you are full of “piss and vinegar” as the old guys will tell you. You want to run after everything that runs, while the old guys tell you, “Let the radio catch ‘em.” You want to go through the doors first and drive the police car fast, with the lights and sirens blaring of course. Otherwise, what is the point? The old guys will tell you to still stop at every red light though. At roll call you want to look the best you can and at the end of the day you want to have made the most arrests, the most traffic stops, the most pedestrian stops and wrote the most traffic tickets. All, of course, in the most dangerous parts of your patrol area.
But then reality begins to set in quite quickly when you realize that most of police work is actually driving from place to place meeting with citizens who have complaints and problems that need to be written down in a police report. It is ironic that the one thing you spend the most time doing, you probably gave the least importance to while you were in training. After all, how glamorous is writing a police report?
As time goes on, the reports began to sound the same. Sure the people are different, but the problems and the complaints are the same. Could it be that all of these people share the same struggles and hardships. Can it be that they all share the same inability to solve the own problems without the intervention of an outside authority in their lives. Maybe it is that they have so become accustomed to “the government” doing everything for them that they just don’t have the desire to do for themselves. They look to “the government” to tell them how to be married, get unmarried, raise their children, be kind to their neighbors and have more respect for themselves. And since the police officer is the first line of “the government” these people see, we get the pleasure of having those types of conversations multiple times a day. Such a continuous flood of repetitive conversations about the same solvable “unsolvable problems”, with seemingly the same people, wears you down. It creates apathy and some disdain for the very people you thought you wanted to help in the first place.
This jaded position is certainly unrealistic because, in fact, most of the people in the community are not calling you with these “unsolvable problems” as they know how to effectively navigate life without the over involvement of “the government”. But those people never call. No one ever calls you to come to their house to see how well Little Johnny is doing in school. No one ever calls you to come over to their house to see how well their marriage is going. No one ever calls to show you that none of their worldly possessions have disappeared overnight. And certainly no one ever calls you over to their house just to say thank you. But then that is not what you were called to do. You were called “to protect and to serve” so just shut up and do it. For the most part, police work is a difficult and thankless job. But every now and then, something happens or you come in contact with someone who makes it all worth while.
Of course, the other aspect of police work is dealing with the criminals themselves. Contrary to the citizens, these people really don’t want to see you. They don’t call and they prefer to handle their own problems their own way. That would be fine and dandy except that their ways of coping and conflict resolution are the major reasons your job exists in the first place. I often have marveled at how much time, energy and talent criminals put into their escapades. It seems to me that the same amount of the same resources would have paid off in legitimate arenas and thus would have nullified the necessity of any future negative interaction with “the government”. After a period of time of seeing the blood, pain, tears, fears, dead bodies and broken lives, you just wag your head and ask “Why?” Each time you ask, you have a different answer. Is it the fact that the father is gone? Is the fact that the mother has to be absent at work? Is the fact that the children have to live in survival mode all of the time? Is it their environment? Is it the lack of religious training? Is it peer pressure? Is it a lack of education? Is it a combination of all of the above? You don’t really know, so you just keep wagging your head.
After a while, it doesn’t really matter. Someone will ask you who is that laying dead on the ground? You don’t know because you never took time to notice. He is just another 15 to 25 year old male who was killed. Same as the one two days ago. Same as the two a week ago. Same as the three a month ago. After awhile, they all seem the same. You just grow numb. Numb to the blood on the streets, numb to the pain and suffering, numb to the tears of the mothers, numb to the fears of the little children, numb to the sight of all the dead bodies and numb to the trail of broken lives such things leave behind as well as create. It is as though a part of your own humanity has died with them.
It is the repetitive nature of crime that gives it such a sense of permanence as to make you feel like all your efforts to prevent it are in vain. No matter how hard you try or how many you put in jail, there will always be another one to take the place of the one you put away. In most instances, due to the way the justice system works, the same criminals are freed and free to perpetrate the same crimes. Can you imagine how disheartening it is to, at great peril to yourself, apprehend a criminal only to see him in the same spot you arrested him in just a week later? Can you imagine how disheartening it is to see a criminal’s rap sheet and read multiple murder charges and robbery charges? Why is he free? After awhile you figure, “What is the use?” There will always be more of them than us. They stay the same age, 15 to 25, as we just grow older. They have the advantage in numbers, they have the advantage in the courts and they have the advantage on the streets. Or do they?
In reality, they do not! We perceive them to be everywhere at all times because we hear about them the most on the news. They appear to be all powerful because we are often reminded on the news of the dreadful things they are capable of. They appear to be invincible because most of our singular efforts to contain, control or eliminate them are often thwarted. It is this singular approach that gives them power and increases their number. I am reminded of the saying, “All that is needed for evil to flourish is for good people to do nothing.” Well while we are not just doing nothing, perhaps we could work more closer together to get better results. The fact is that the good citizens, the police and the court system are infinitely more powerful than any group of criminals. It takes a cooperative, determined and unified partnership to defeat crime and its affects on our society. Policing should not be relegated to just a few souls who complete the training and hold the sworn office. Policing is an involved community effort and the police officer is merely the enforcement and apprehension arm of this effort. And in a more than symbolic gesture of the gavel, the court system should serve to lower the boom on criminals and remove them from the citizenry. It is only as this partnership works we will began to get a grip on crime and gain the advantage. And as we do, we can began to make a difference in changing the causative factors that lead up to criminal activity. But it will take all of us families, clergy, social organizations, business groups, professional groups, retirees, activists, blue collar workers, white collar workers and no collar workers to get involved and make a difference.
So if you really want to know what it means to be a police officer, look in your mirror and ask yourself, “What police work have I done today?” You are the police!
Written by:
@ewjjr
http://ewjtoday.blogspot.com
--------
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)