Submitted by 17-year-old S. Prince
That day, the day that was a wake-up call for me, started as a beautiful one. In the early evening light, my father and my two siblings and I were pruning trees and cleaning up the messes we made.
I reached up into the branches of our gnarly pear tree and clipped off the ugly branches to make way for new ones to grow in a more orderly fashion.
Every so often I would step back a few feet from the tree and look up, wondering how good my work was. When I wasn’t sure, I ran over to my dad, who was working on a huge pine tree in our back yard and asked him if he could come look at my work.
He came over, looked at my work, and no matter what the tree looked like, told me I was doing great, that it looked good, and asked if I could see that little section over there on the top that could use a little shearing? I did and went on with my work.
It makes me so happy to work with my father. He really loves working on our yard and teaching us new skills and responsibilities so we children will be able to manage our own houses one day. He always has a good attitude, even when my siblings and I get gripey, and he’s willing to sacrifice anything for us at any time.
That day was beautiful, until all of the sudden, my mother came running out of the house to the yard where we were steadily working.
“A motorcycle just ran into the crowd!” she yelled.
My father and I immediately ran back into the house where we watched the video, and sure enough, in the middle of the protesting in the city center, a crazed maniac stood up on his motorcycle and then promptly crashed, sending his bike careening into the crowd.
It ran into a lady walking a stroller, and we could not immediately tell if they were alive or not.
That event quickly dispersed the crowds of protestors in favor of BLM for the day, and I found myself breathing a huge sigh of relief.
Although our Constitution allows us the right to peacefully protest as part of freedom of assembly, guaranteed by the First Amendment, that right has been blatantly and unacceptably abused in 2020. I knew it would only have taken an angry spark to light a fire within the people of my city.
I was so grateful because I knew my father would not be called in to stand against the protestors that day, protestors who abuse the right to assemble and throw bricks at the heads of officers who nevertheless continue to protect that right.
I was grateful because I knew I would wake up the next day and see my selfless father again.
My father is a Police Officer. I have experienced first-hand the hate, abuse, and ridicule of the jobs police officers hold, and even more about the officers themselves. It really just shows how little awareness people have of other people’s lives.
Police officers aren’t some dangerous group of murderers who live to see the next kill, watching for when someone slips up. They are brave, selfless family members who are willing to lay down their lives to protect humanity against its darker side.
They have families and friends who love them, are worried sick for them, and often sacrifice their own joys and carefreeness to support them.
And the people most protected by the police are the ones who are the most ungrateful and hate them the most. How twisted is that?
I am a teenager living in the United States as a daughter of a police officer.
I haven’t really spoken up much about my point of view, but I will not remain silent any longer. I am sick and tired of choosing a false apathy and staying in the background while my father and his fellow workers are torn down for their incredible ability to sacrifice their own safety.
I want to make a difference.
I was silent, but is that because everyone else like me is silent, too? Why? Maybe teenagers are so afraid of peer rejection that we feel crippled by the idea of standing up for a group of people that are really the cornerstone of this country.
We want to stand up for the abused, oppressed, “underdogs” in our lives and around us, which is not wrong unless those feelings are misplaced.
The media has lied about who the real victims are, and now, the popular thing to say is that the violent mob, who is trying to literally tear down this amazing society piece by piece, is the victim of law enforcement. Law enforcement officers are simply trying to keep the system together. The irony of this situation is astounding.
Whatever is the matter with us, life as a police officer’s child is not light and happiness all the time. You never know if your mom is going to be crushed by a phone call one day saying “I’m sorry Mrs. –, but your husband was shot by a drug lord while raiding a house today…”
You never know if your father is going to come home to you every night, tell you about his day, and the crazy, sometimes funny, but more often violent people he has had to deal with. My father is tough.
He is strong, and he is trained. But I can tell you one thing: he is not racist. Nor is my uncle, who works as a police officer in a school. And guess what? He has is loved by the children there, and he cares about and for them, just like he does his family and friends.
I have so many memories of my dad and uncle: going to my uncle’s house every year for the Super Bowl or other assorted football games, where my dad and uncle were really the only two watching, and they were having a grand old time.
I remember going camping with the whole family, the kids chasing each other around while the parents watched over us, relaxed, and reminisced about their collective childhoods.
I remember our two families going backpacking, and I got lost, and when I finally found my way back both my uncle and father were very comforting and soothed my tears and agitated state of mind.
They are real people, with emotions and strengths and weaknesses, not dehumanized monsters who sit around in dark rooms waiting for the next call. That idea is so wrong.
Many of my very good friends have turned their backs on Police Officers because of the lies spread by the media, which has absolutely broken my heart.
Some of those friends know my dad very well, but even still choose to believe that “white privilege” (defined as “cops pulling people over just because they are black” by someone close to me) exists, that my dad and his fellow workers are racist, and that cops really are bastards.
I feel torn, wanting to push them away so badly, but knowing at the same time that giving them a taste of their own medicine is not the right response in this turbulent time.
Even some people in my church have recently turned their backs on cops. Years ago, a little girl in summer Vacation Bible School (VBS) didn’t think it was okay to pray for police officers because “they arrest people.”
This was a little black girl being lied to in the church about the hatefulness of police officers toward her, and that day has haunted me since.
Imagine what she thinks now.
I have been forced to watch as children my father and I have helped in numerous ways become infected by a false narrative that turns a saint and hero into a dark villain. I have had to watch little children start to believe in lies told them by their peers and their ignorant parents that are directly personal to me and my family, even as I help them cut up paper plates into funky shapes for a VBS activity.
But yet, I have to remain patient and kind, because forgiveness and love are the only things that can transcend hate.
I had social media for a while. I took a break because I was sick of the lies, falsity, and deceit portrayed cheerfully on social media, but one day recently I decided to go back on and see what had happened in my absence.
I should not have done that.
Many, many, people who I loved and respected were posting a black square, slandering cops, and speaking about the unjust deaths of all the black criminals in America. That, too, broke my heart. I felt like I was being stripped raw, emotion choking my throat as I wondered how much more I could take. How much more all of these police families could take.
Will this ever stop? Will these people ever be able to see reason? When, O Lord, when?
I thought certain people were able to see through the media’s lies. I thought they would be able to see and understand the reality of these situations since they knew police officers firsthand. But they couldn’t.
In the words of Thomas Sowell:
“It takes considerable knowledge just to realize the extent of your own ignorance.”
Those people just didn’t choose to seek out knowledge.
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Let us consider for a moment exactly what the loudest group is saying about cops right now: all cops are bastards. Are they really?
Well, I can’t say that I know for sure if all cops are illegitimate children, but they probably aren’t. That’s obviously not what people mean when they spray ACAB all over Porta Potties. Let’s assume that the definition means “an offensive or disagreeable person.” Is this true? Are all cops offensive and disagreeable people?
This is the strategy of the mob. Send out slogans and generalizations that the rioters can rally behind in order to create mass chaos and destruction.
In the words of Ann Coulter in her book Demonic:
“All the characteristics of mob behavior set forth by Le Bon in 1895 are evident in modern liberalism — simplistic, extreme black-and-white thinking, fear of novelty, inability to follow logical arguments, acceptance of contradictory ideas, being transfixed by images, a religious worship of their leaders, and a blind hatred of their opponents.
Many of liberals’ peculiarities are understandable only when one realizes that they are a mob. For example, a crowd’s ability to grasp only the simplest ideas is reflected in the interminable slogans.
Liberals thrive on jargon as a substitute for thought. According to Le Bon, the more dramatic and devoid of logic a chant is, the better it works to rile up a mob: ‘Given to exaggeration in its feelings, a crowd is only impressed by excessive sentiments. An orator wishing to move a crowd must make an abusive use of violent affirmations. To exaggerate, to affirm, to resort to repetitions, and never to attempt to prove anything by reasoning are methods of argument well known to speakers at public meetings.’
Liberals love slogans because the ‘laws of logic have no action on crowds.'”
I wish that people would have the sense to see that saying the slogan ACAB over and over is wrong and illogical. I wish they would stop chanting “What do we want? Dead cops! When do we want it? Now!” over and over again.
I wish they would stop to consider what that actually means for them and their own children. I wish they would consider what that means for the children of the police officers. I wish they would realize they don’t have to groupthink based on what people tell them to.
I wish they would remember they could be thinking, contributing individuals and use their talents and abilities for good.
It is worrying watching my father leave every morning, even on a good day in America, but right now, can you imagine how my siblings, my cousins and I feel? We sit here, watching our fathers go out to fight a war specifically prescribed for them, knowing that they are able to transcend the noise of the media, but cannot avoid the bullets and the fiendish hate all the same.
America needs its police officers. Somehow, it’s a forgotten fact and a tragedy. What people can’t see is that all their virtue signaling and crying out for social justice is pointless, because if they eliminate the group of people whose job it is to administer and keep justice, who will maintain it for them?
They are crying for anarchy, and anyone who has studied history will remember the failures of anarchical societies or attempts in our past. Why would you cry for “social justice” for the oppressed, and then try to murder or remove the people who have sworn to uphold that very idea?
It just doesn’t make sense, and it causes me actual pain and sleepless nights because I fear for this country more than I ever dreamed I would. Oh, for a peaceful childhood that no longer exists!
A prominent trainer in law enforcement told us we should thank our higher power that someone is willing to kill in order to save lives, because if the day comes when no one is willing to do that anymore, we will have to fold up our flag and kiss our country goodbye, because someone else who is willing to kill is going to take their place.
The police are the best and most peaceful way to stop the violence in this country, and the true irony is that the violence is directed at them. If all the cop haters and the social justice criers had to live on their own island with all the criminals they tout so proudly, without any police officers to save them, how long would it be before they came crying back to reality, begging for mercy from the very people they tried to kill because of their own lies? How long?
I am proud to be a member of a blue family, and I wouldn’t change my father’s job for anything. He comes home from work every day and needs to sleep because of the stress and added pressure of these “peaceful” times. It’s weighing him down.
He is becoming haggard, but he’s not a racist, murderous monster. He’s a dad. He’s a husband. He’s a brother. He’s a son. He’s a friend. He’s an uncle. He’s human, just like the rest of us.
He doesn’t deserve this treatment, and America certainly shouldn’t be giving it to him. There are two police officers in my family, and I have met many of my father’s co-workers in the force. I can tell you one thing: none of the cops I know are bastards.
The baby who was hit by the stroller lived. Its mother was injured because she was directly hit by the motorcycle. But the baby will be okay, because there were officers at the scene who dashed to the rescue before EMTs arrived. The baby will be okay today and tomorrow. None of us can be so certain about our officers.
My father is a hero. Not because he has died defending lives, although many have, but because he goes out every day to put his own life on the line for innocent people and to protect them from the true bastards, those who seek the physical harm of others, out there.
He puts himself in harm’s way because he loves his family, his country, and his fellow citizens.
He is a protector, not a villain, and he deserves your honor and respect, just as he has mine.
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