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Cruiser Control

March 16, 2010
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I have quite a few police officers that live in my neighborhood. I suppose that is a far better reason for having police cars parked in the streets than having a crack house next door. (We don’t have crack houses in lakeside. We have meth factories. It’s much more high class. Actually, it’s just much more white.)

That being said, I must admit to being stopped short when I am out walking and I meet a police car. It doesn’t take much to bring me back to when the police were on our doorstep.

Now, the reality of the situation is, how many people are actually happy to see the police pull up in front of their house? Maybe if you’re the one with the knife held at your throat you would be a little relieved but chances are, it doesn’t happen very often.

I know our dogs weren’t thrilled to be disturbed at 7:00 a.m that weekend morning two days after filing our report. As I sat in my pajamas (grungy gym pants and a holey t-shirt), sipping my coffee, they started barking and losing their minds. I, of course,  jumped out of my skin and poured half a cup of coffee down my front.

Peeking outside (and in full adrenaline rush as we didn’t have a served OFP yet), I was at least pleased to see that it wasn’t him. Since I had just given the kids cell phones and instructed them in that famous Walton Family talk of “if you see your dad, dial 9-1-1,” my nerves were a jangled mess.

“Hello officer, please come into my house and try to ignore the two footstools that are alternately growling at you and attempting to hump your leg.”

My daughter was still asleep. My son was on the computer in the other room. I guess I didn’t ask him for help with the dogs because I was trying to keep him as far away from the situation as possible. My kids were not children that needed to be exposed to the police. This was not my beautiful life.

So I sat down in the living room and tried to wrestle the dog off the nice policeman’s back. I was small, I was covered in coffee stains, my eyes were red rimmed and swollen, my dogs were totally out of control, and my son was lost in his own world. Hopefully, it was better than mine.

That’s what I remember when I see a police car in my neighborhood.

It’s just a car. It’s just my neighborhood. It’s just a memory.

It’s just like it was yesterday.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. March 16, 2010 4:09 pm

    I find myself grateful that you have a punching bag (color me envious) AND a blog–both are tremendously healthy outlets. So hi.

  2. Tabatha Voros permalink
    March 18, 2010 2:30 am

    For me it is the color blue, a very difinitive color of blue. Not sky blue not dark blue but a blue without a name. It was the color of the paper that led me down the path of a physco., to this day, that color sends me into deep, horrid cycles of pain and grief. I hope you learn how to cope, then let me know!
    Much Love for All
    Tabatha

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