Silence
My dad isn’t perfect. I’ve read several blog posts and articles by cops’ kids lately, and they all talk about the dad who played catch with them or was the best friend or was extremely loving and doted on them throughout their childhood. And let me tell you, my dad wasn’t any of that. We have our share of issues, and we have issues about our issues. (Case in point, saying this, will cause an issue.) We can’t see eye to eye on faith, relationships, parenting, family responsibility, finances, or my vocational pursuits. But there is one thing in which I have never questioned my respect for him—his job.
My dad has been a police officer in Southern California for over twenty-five years in a city more than an hour and fifteen minutes from where we lived. My parents have given many reasons for this, but they all revolved around the safety of our family. And let me tell you, being a law enforcement family…it leaves its marks. Yet, you don’t hear people talk about it much. My mother is a teacher, and there is a strong solidarity between teachers’ kids as we bemoan “summer workbooks” and the constant changing of classes and the fact that your own teachers will inevitably know your mom. But cops’ kids…aren’t so readily open.
In the midst of the crap being thrown at police officers, I heard a talk show host condemning police officer FAMILIES for not speaking out about the tragedies and violence taking place across our nation. They claim our silence denotes our lack of empathy. Our silence is the problem. Let me tell you about our silence.
Our silence comes from the years of biting our tongues as friends and acquaintances criticize police officers for being lazy or power hungry while your father is at home sleeping off the fourteen hour shift he just worked due to a domestic violence call.
Our silence come from learning that no words will calm an angry man if he is determined to be angry.
Our silence comes from years of having to stand beside our father, husband, brother, son, uncle, as the media and the public use words like ‘pigs’ or ‘scum’ to describe officers.
Our silence comes from the fact that your attacks on law enforcement isn’t a new phenomenon. It isn’t the result of Black Lives Matter, and it isn’t the sudden result of its prominence in media. It is escalated by all of this, but it is not new. We have had years to learn that more hateful words, more condemnation on one man or another, will not stem this surge of violence but inflame it.
There is not a single member of a cop’s family that is cheering on any sense of police brutality. In fact, in instances of true, uncalled for police brutality, I can assure you there is none more incensed than the families of law enforcement. Because we know the costs. We know what a single act will do to the lives of our loved ones. We know that such actions are a perversion of what our officers stand for and what they fight for.
Yet we are not quick to label an instance as “police brutality”. This I will freely admit. While the world cries, “Unwarranted violence! Hate crime!” we know the greyscale that comes with any action an officer has to make. And while many are quick to use the “I’d rather my husband fire his gun than take a chance” rhetoric, it is not the core of our hesitation to label a situation. We are not so selfish; though at times, it isn’t easy to hold onto that. –Because every morning, when my dad walked out of the house, we knew that he could be stepping into extremely dangerous situations. But every morning or night, we supported him in that. Why? Because he was working to protect people. We gave up our right to selfishness each time we said goodbye. –It is because we know how tough a call is to make when you are in the situation, not from personal experiences but from caring for our officers after the fact, from seeing the toll it has taken on them to have to use force.
