Smells

It's funny sometimes to have a memory triggered by a smell.  Today I reached into the passenger seat of my patrol car to throw some bags in, and was hit hard by a smell from my childhood.  It was the smell of my dad's patrol car.  I couldn't describe it, and I didn't even really remember it, but the instant I leaned in my car I was transported back to my childhood.  It must be some mix of worn out brakes, firearms, leather gear, dirt, adrenaline and whatever else lingers around a police car.

I rode in my dad's car every single chance I could.  I went to work with him on almost every single school holiday, several times a summer, and whenever I could badger my way in.  I sat through community meetings, I hung out with dispatchers, I was babysat by the precinct staff, I went on calls and traffic stops.

As an adult now I find it crazy; how did he get away with always having a kid in tow?  Was it a precinct joke?  There goes the Captain, Major and then Chief with one of his kids in tow again.  Maybe nobody questions the boss?

I remember his goal of introducing me to every strong female officer in his agency, women who to this day still mentor me.

But mostly I remember the smell of that car, driving all over the place, and my dad and I talking nonstop during our time together.  Of all the lessons I try to carry over to my own children, it's that my parents always talked and listened to us.  And that feeling, of being respected and loved and listened to, is where I went today when I was transported back to my dad's patrol car. 

Safety Talks and Showing Off

When I was a kid, I called 911.  And then I promptly hung up, ran away, and hid in my room when our phone started ringing almost immediately.  I hid as I listened to my dad explain to the dispatcher that everything was fine, he was actually an off-duty officer, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the little girl who had just run through the house to hide in her room was somehow related to the mysterious call. 

And that dang call was brought up every year, starting with the time he came and did a safety talk for my kindergarten class.  It was his opener for years and years of safety talks.  He'd break the ice with kids, afraid of this very tall man in a uniform, by telling them that even his own daughter hung up on the 911 dispatcher. 

I have done a lot of safety talks for kids and yes, even I have told this story.  But in a couple of weeks I get to do my very first safety talk, in uniform, to my own child's class.  I have been worrying more than usual, rehearsing and planning, excited to let my two worlds collide while my kid still thinks I'm cool.  I'm pretty sure in about a decade, I won't be allowed to set foot anywhere near her school campus let alone her classroom in my uniform. 

So I am ready to let myself be embarrassed once more, at my own doing, with a big dose of gratitude that my daughter hasn't yet figured out that if you hang up on the dispatcher, they really do call right back.