Monday, June 6, 2016

I Can't Break My Own Rules...

This is yet another one of those things that is somehow both tricky and frustrating and probably pretty exclusive to those of us living the Law Enforcement Life.
Someone just asked me to join a Facebook Group. I liked the idea of it so I contacted the Administrator who basically said that she couldn't let me join the group unless my Facebook Profile stated my address, city, or town.
I know there are some Cop's Wives who have no problem doing this; they are the same women who actually post pictures of their men in uniform on their page, and do all sorts of things I would never do.
It's not worth it.
If you're reading this as some sort of major guilt trip: get over it. That's not what I'm saying.
What I'm saying is that I take my husband's safety seriously. I also have a child and a dog that I take care of, and with the whole world being SO connected today...I don't fool around.
I don't post pictures or addresses or mention my kid because even perps use Facebook. And if you think their "security" is secure...well. Crazy people are on Twitter all day long. (Trust me on this) And between this, that, and the other thing...there are various ways that someone can seek to do us harm.
So I'm a Safety Girl. Perhaps over the top. Maybe paranoid.
But safe. And that's what counts.
The end result of the Facebook Group was said Administrator saying more or less---I'm paraphrasing here---"I'm so sorry I can't let you in, but I can't break my own rules."
Neither can I.

Monday, May 23, 2016

Fine by Me...

Yesterday, I was getting ready to go out when I heard that an Officer was shot in Massachusetts.
This morning when I hit the News, I found out that the suspect was shot and killed after an exchange of gunfire.
Fine by me.

Monday, May 16, 2016

Did you know him?

When someone dies, it's as if people come out of the woodwork to say that they knew the person.
Or knew someone who knew someone who knew the person.
If someone famous dies, there's this idea that if you are on the peripheral edges of that death, that you are somehow "in the know."
If you're a fan, it strikes you hard. When Prince died, I know a lot of people who decided to listen to his music nonstop, for days, and perhaps even now, weeks on end.
It's an odd sort of soothing.
Friday night, the Media was all over the story of NYPD Inspector Michael Ameri, who was found dead of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound.
When I heard the story, I thought: Oh My God, I knew him.
I didn't know him in the traditional sense: he followed me on Twitter, and I followed him. He favorited a Tweet or two of mine, and I did the same.
Does it count?
Did I know him?
Could I be saddened by his passing all the same?
The same way I drowned in the melancholy of When Doves Cry, I felt entitled to feel something for a man who was obviously troubled.
Sure, there is now all sorts of speculation: was he the focus of a federal corruption probe in the department?
Today's Newsday is reporting that not to be true.

Does it matter?
It's still a life given in service, and then lost in the most tragic of ways.
Today I send love and good energy out to a family that lost its loved one: whether it is Prince's family, or Michael Ameri's...or the entire #NYPD Family.

Monday, May 2, 2016

Small Town Carnival

Even though we live in the Sixth Borough, we live in what most people would consider a small town; it's a community right outside of The Big Apple, where cops can let out their breath for a minute.
Every year our small town hosts a typical carnival-type event, and last year we went for the first time with our son. He was young enough to not know fear, so he went on all the rides, and we left there feeling as if we had touched a small slice of Americana, even if for just a few hours.
This year we went but our child is a year older and a bit more aware. He was not interested in the rides. He didn't even want to walk by some, because they were larger than life to him, and perhaps the things that toddler nightmares are made of...I'm not sure, but either way, I wasn't interested in sticking around in order to figure it all out.
We made a decision to get some ice cream, but on our way out of the carnival, my husband made a quick detour over to the Police Officer who was directing traffic. He showed our son the Officer and told him to wave. The Officer seemed rather excited and waved back, and when he had the chance, stepped off of his post in order to greet my son and offer him a tiny plastic badge. 
My son liked this far better than the dinosaur ride that sat right behind him.
He clutched the badge, and yelled in his little boy voice, "Thank You Mr. Police Man!"
We all chuckled.
When we left, I gave my husband a look that only couples that are married great lengths of time can interpret and immediately understand.
" was important for him and for that Officer."
I get it.
I always have.


Conversely, I was turning onto our road today and saw the local Police parked directly outside my house, idling there, window down. I may have taken the turn a bit quickly as I pulled up alongside the SUV.
"Did you need me for something, were you looking for me?" I addressed the Officer with my heart hammering in my chest.
"No, but you didn't come to a complete stop just then." He sneered at me.
It took a moment to process his words.
"Oh!" Then it dawned on me. He was sitting outside my house trying to catch people running the Stop Sign at the turn onto my road.
I blinked, then said, "My husband is NYPD. I thought you were serving me a notification."
The look on his face said he didn't understand or perhaps care.
That was fine. I get it. In a small town, running a Stop Sign gets elevated to a level of importance that it would not have in the streets of the Big City.
But he also didn't understand why I did not...could not...pause.
It's that half a second, that moment of not knowing...that breath you just can't get...the irrational urge to scream at him and say, "DO NOT IDLE IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE. EVER!" was a different kind of small-town carnival.
A sideshow, perhaps.
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