My father was a policeman. In the days before stun guns, bulletproof vests, and back up calls were frowned upon. All a policeman could count on was his knowledge, experience, and the tools of the trade. And his St. Christopher Medal to bring him home to us at the end of his shift. In 26 years he never shot anyone or was shot.
When I was about 16 years old my father took me to work to show me how food was put on the
table.
It was a hot day in mid-July and my father took a call about a newly released mental patient that had become violent and needed to be returned to the hospital. When we entered the family's home, the boy was about 16 years old (a BIG strong kid) with a mentality of a three year old. He was stomping and shouting, “He was not going back to the hospital!” My father said to the boy, “It's ok we just need to talk.” We sat down at the kitchen table, my father took of his sunglasses and showed his soft brown eyes and his gray straight mustache. The family explained that the boy attacked his mother and the brother had to pull him off of his mother.
In the process the brother scratched the boy's ear. My father looked at the ear and slightly grimaced. My father declared that the ear looked pretty bad. “Mom do you have any ice?” The ice pack was produced. My father told the boy to hold it on his ear. My father said, “That ear looks pretty bad, someone should look at it.” The ice served two purposes, my father could see his hand and it cooled him down on that hot day. The boy agreed to go to the hospital to have the doctor look at his ear.
When the ambulance arrived my father sent me out to tell them the deal and the boy walked to the ambulance without being cuffed or clubbed.
My Father is now and forever will be my hero.