“Police.” This word contains a variety of meaning for all individuals. Some people look to them for help, some think they are all crooked, children may see them as heroes or are afraid of them. It truly differs from person to person based on how you have developed police identity in your mind. I find it troubling, to say the least, that our nation has succumbed to such random acts of violence against each other in all aspects of the word. I suppose a certain degree of confrontation and media imposition have always intertwined with American history, exploiting a “side” to every story. The recent violence against police across this country is something that hits home with me.
First, I think it is important to identify that despite our history of police violence, aggression in violent protesting, or outright murder, the bottom line is (a) people cannot be generalized based on race, gender, sexuality, or social class. They also shouldn’t be generalized based on occupation—every person is an individual who will have to take responsibility for his/her actions, and (b) not all people are good or filled with integrity and honor, even when they hold a position where we assume that they possess these traits.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who puts his or her own life on the line every day, with every traffic stop, every call to a scene, with every call. We become so complacent with the phrase, “risk their lives,” because we use it so often in conjunction with military/policemen/firefighters/etc. How many of us can say that we voluntarily do this daily? How many times do we face certain trouble, with no knowledge of an outcome or resolution, on purpose? It can be terrifying to find yourself in a situation where you know you may not walk away from it.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who walked away from a growing market, a family business, and a lifestyle to join a police force and put the passion to serve others to good use.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who did not let racial stereotypes, an unforgiving academy, and months away from family, break him or stop him from pursuing his ambition.
When I see a police uniform, I see help. I see someone who is trained in emergency procedures and skilled in not panicking in any situation.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who will only take a life when it is threatening other innocent lives, and even then, as a reluctant last resort.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who would stop his day to help a stranded citizen with a flat tire, drive this person to pick up a new tire, then change it for him.
When I see a police uniform, I see hope. I see the honor and honesty that I believe they should have, and I have seen it exemplified to the highest degree.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who has worked decades of fatalities and then notify families that they just lost someone they love. Then, return home to his wife and children, where I know it’s nearly impossible to leave “the office” at the door.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who endures emotional turmoil. I see someone who has pulled an infant from a car that had just crashed and watched the child take his final breath in his arms, his efforts in saving the child’s life rendered useless because of the injuries.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who (in a small town) would call a teen’s parents if he or she were pulled over for something in lieu of writing them a ticket or letting them go with just a warning so their accountability for the infraction was not lost before they even got home.
When I see a police uniform, I see someone who took the stuffed animals that I wanted to throw away as I got older and put them in his car for when he worked a crash where a family/children were involved. He gave the animals to the kids to help comfort them in case they were afraid.
When I see a police uniform, I see my dad. I don’t see the title he wears as lieutenant, I don’t see a badge and a gun, I don’t see relentless authority, I don’t see a stereotype.
I see the man who taught me that doing the right thing made the most sense, could help someone else, and yielded the least regrets. I see the man who taught me that life isn’t always so terrible or difficult, but when it is, there is always someone who can help.
On my 16th birthday, my mother and I were shopping when my dad called to let her know some news before she heard it on the radio/television. He was involved in a shooting incident. In a small community not far from ours, a gunman with several rounds of ammunition was firing shots in a neighborhood at anything and everything when police were called. He gunned down the first-responding policeman in his front yard, firing numerous shots into his fallen body. My dad was the second the officer on the scene, and this man put forth his best efforts to kill him too. My dad saved the policeman’s life who was bleeding to death on the ground, and today he lives. The cost was high, but later he found out a child next door was watching through the window. If the gunman had seen this boy, it would have been over. It could have been over for my dad that day, but it wasn’t. All because someone was randomly firing shots throughout his neighborhood.
I am so sick of hearing specific “lives matter.” All lives matter. When did we decide otherwise?
You may not agree with me, and that’s fine. This is a matter very personal for me and on my heart lately.
God bless you, those who put your lives on the line for any and every life, those who don’t see the stereotypes, just the need. I know this does not describe every police officer, but for the ones it does:
You’re the real heroes.
M
Blue Withens 
” ‘Til you blew in just like paper in the wind, And I just wanted something to believe in, And I just want to be your man, your friend, Carry on with you right down to the very end!”
These are really good by the way!
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