I'm No Hero

"Daily Nobody Bodhi Huh?", you many be asking yourself. Hey, cut me some slack. I've worked like 45 hours of overtime in the last two weeks or so. I'm lucky to get laundry done.

Anyway...

I have worked an awful lot of Halloween oriented overtime recently. It's been tiring but also rewarding in a way. I really do enjoy being out in the public as a policeman, especially around kids. They like to say hello, shake my hand, ask weird kid questions (yes, a taser REALLY hurts), and maybe have a picture taken with me and them in their policeman costume. I don't enjoy this because it makes me feel like something more than I am. I like this because I know that kid went home and could not stop thinking about how he got to meet that policeman, AND HE EVEN ASKED WHAT MY NAME WAS!!!!! That kid got to meet and interact in a very positive way with someone he or she thought of as a hero. Who doesn't like to meet a hero?

I remember when I was very young, kindergarten or maybe even before, I colored this picture of a smiling policeman in whatever class I was in. I didn't get it quite finished and it remained this way until the picture met whatever unknown fate. The officer had a kind and friendly face. He was waving at me. The image was positive and friendly. Policeman were my heroes to me and every kid I knew. I was very fortunate to be able to grow up and become what I had always thought of as a hero. I go to work everyday and have this perspective. I know that there is always some kid out there that sees me in my uniform and thinks the same way that I did all those years ago.

One of my many overtime jobs has been at the costume store. I guess it is to deter theft. What is funny though is just how many people thought I was in a costume. I always roll with it because I'm a fun guy. I get to make the same jokes to each different person. "Yeah, it's a really expensive costume. You have to ask for it specifically in the back." Then I go into how totally worth it the costume is because it's so awesome, I get full size snickers. They catch on and we both have a good laugh. It is a wonderful positive interaction with the public. It shows that I am human and a goofball, not some robot in a uniform. I also talk to just about any kid that makes eye contact with me. I ask what their name is, what they are going to be for Halloween, and just other general chatty type things. Whatever I can do to have a positive interaction with this kid and his or her parents. I even did it in my very limited spanish today and that kid was even more impressed. It's fun. It's almost a PR event and I go out of my way to be approachable and friendly. Things were like this every time I was at a job like this, until today.

I was at the costume store doing my shtick today when a black guy came up to me and did the whole that's a neat costume thing. He had several kids and they were all standing around me. It was a wonderful opportunity to do what I love doing. This one was different. When the guy figured out that I really was a policeman, his expression changed to something like a mix of fear and horror. He snatched his kids away from me like I had just revealed that I was a convicted child rapist. He backed away with this look on his face that looked like he was in real danger. It took me a second for this to sink in, but then I understood. To him, I am the bogeyman. I am evil incarnate. I am a dangerous racist, thirsty for blood. I bet he still shivers about just how close he came to being beaten in a frenzy of hatred and racism. My duties were to wander around the isles and I ran into him and his kids again by chance. His kids had that same look of terror, like at any moment I would snap and just shoot them or something. I could not believe this. It was devastating to me. It happened again a short time later. A cute little black girl of about eight years saw me and screamed "police!" in terror and ran to the safety of her mother. The mother scowled at me like I had just tried to harm her daughter. My heart just sank.

What has happened? How can me and my profession go from being a hero to some little kid to something that puts genuine fear in the hearts of people? I had to stop paying any attention to the news about all the time all this Ferguson stuff went down because every other story was how evil and racist cops were. I had to abandon my beloved NPR because I could not stand to hear how horrible I was on such a regular basis. This idea just kills me. I leave my house and my son everyday do go out into the world and try to make a difference in someones life. Every time I walk out that door, it could be the last time my son sees me alive. I do this with eagerness because I feel fortunate to be able to help my community. I have names and faces forever etched into my mind of lives I have saved or changed. There are three real people that are only alive today because of my direct action, twice with serious risk to my own life. I love what I represent, safety, justice, protection. I can't understand why anyone would fear such a thing as that.

I am about to spell check and proof this entry and head out to another overtime job on Halloween. I will be there to protect and serve. I will be there to save people from themselves and others. I will do this with the knowledge that some will see me as a threat, a danger to society, a predator that lusts for the chance to perpetrate his racist violence upon the world. I will be there, committed as always, but I will be full of sorrow about what our world has become.

The Angel of the Night

Fear not the night.
Fear that which walks the night.
And I am that which walks the night.

But only evil need fear me …
and gentle souls sleep safe in their beds…
because I walk the night.

~by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman

The Wandering

When I was a younger man, in my early twenties, my home was the sea. Like for real, I actually lived on a ship. It was pretty awesome actually. I got to see about half the world from that ship and gained my love of travel in the process. My "rack" ,as it is referred to, was like a bunk bed stacked three high. This would have been totally rad when I was around eight years old, but as a young man it was a bit claustrophobic.

My vacation home was my car. A 1995 Dodge Neon. It was my first brand new car. I got it off the lot with seven miles on the odometer. It still had the plastic on the seats from transport from the factory. I had stopped at home on the way to my ship from my RM school in San Diego, then drove this gleaming white beauty to Florida to report to my first ship.

Living on the ship was pretty boring. I am certain they have much more entertainment on the ship for present day sailors. Back then, not so much. I read in my rack as much as I could handle, but most of the time I would get in my car and just wander. I would drive wherever I chose just for the heck of it. would often sleep in my car at some random destination. There was no family, no responsibility until I had to me back at the ship, nothing to tie me down. I enjoyed this freedom. My life was fresh and the possibilities were endless. Wandering was my way of being free.

Many years have passed since then. I got married, had an awesome son with a not so awesome mom, Got the awesome son full time, started my career, then got married again. This last event turned out to be a very bad thing. It was an exceptionally bad marriage with an exceptionally mentally ill woman.

This relationship completely deconstructed my being. I was able to escape, and escape is a very appropriate word. It has been a rough year, and the strings are not completely severed from this destructive person quite yet. The process of healing has been very eye opening for me. I have learned things about myself I did not know, seen issues inside of me that I did not know were issues, and began a different path I didn't know existed. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, I have been reborn after a cataclysmic fireball. Every day is fresh and new but this sometimes brings new issues to ponder.

I wandered again today for the first time in decades. My teenage son is off on a trip with his friends so my only responsibility this weekend is myself. It is very different though. Today, I have a comfortable new home. I have a career, I have long term responsibilities. My wandering today was less about freedom, and more about a longing to be free. Were it not for the return of my awesome son on Sunday, I could have wandered off forever. I could have left my career, I could have left my home, I could have left my identity. It is a very strong desire, but alas It cannot be. It cannot be quite yet.

I have visions of a one person RV. It would be van based or maybe even a small towable one. It would not be my home though. I would sleep there, eat there, and keep my books there. My home would be the road. My name would be Nobody. I would have no superficial ties as I have now. My son is my only real anchor, but he is an adult soon and there are many ways to communicate frequently. I would be adventurously homeless, like men from an earlier time. I would live life just to live life.

I will truly be my Nobody someday. It is on the horizon, but I am not quite there yet. I will have the freedom of my youth but the experiences of my former life to guide me forever onward.

The Prairie Coneflower

The road to my home has a stretch that is a wonderful country drive. Each day, I am fortunate to observe its beauty. The trees both new and ancient, the deer, the rabbits, the coyotes, the cattle. The farmer working to care for his land. The simple beauty of all creation. I am treated to a showing of nature's art show each time I make this drive. There is one thing that has caught my attention above all these beautiful things. Where I turn off of the stretch of country road and onto the road that leads me home, there is this most magnificent prairie coneflower. This beauty is wild. It grows at the crossroads purely by happenstance. Only the randomness of nature itself has allowed me to witness her beauty.

Her petals are delicate like a daisy. She graces my eyes with a most vibrant shade of purple. No man can create such a hue, nor can he extinguish it. Her center is spiny and tough, well suited for the harsh prairie life. Although the spines are quite tough, they show a color that draws you into her beauty. The shapes and colors of the spines are so varied and intricate that you can never quite experience all the beauty she has to offer. Her stem is strong and stout. She can easily stand up against the most ferocious of Oklahoma's winds. Her beauty is stunning in every way.

Her beauty alone is not why I stop and gaze so often. Her perennial tenacity, her sheer force of will to exist as beautiful it was draws me in. There have been wildfires, tornadoes, and fierce hail storms. Errant cattle or dear have feasted on her delicate petals and even left their droppings on her ruined stumps. The winder storms have buried her in ice and snow. The county road plows have piled even more ice and snow on mixed with the sand and salt to clear the roads. A broken own old truck once sat directly on top of her for a full week until it was taken away. Despite all of these toils, she grows back every spring. She always returns, seeming more vibrant and beautiful than before.

This winsome prairie coneflower has brought magnificence to this crossroads for many years. She inspires me and delights me every time I get to see her. She will be here for many years to come, elegant yet strong for all those who can cherish her allure.

Love, Kitty Style

My efforts at sleep are futile and pointless. My head is swimming with words so I might as well write them.

Ah, the move is over. Half of my belongings are in boxes. I have sorted through my beloved books and grabbed a enough to keep me satisfied for a few weeks until they are all shelved. I dropped major cash on new appliances and was gifted a pretty nice refrigerator (thanks Big Dave!). Going from my pretty nice apartment to a rental house means I have to go buy a bunch of stuff I don't even think of until the moment I need it. The major upside is now I have a backyard for growing my veggies and a garage to do my woodcarving. The opportunities are endless.

The move was stressful to most of us. My son is always cool calm and collected and I don't think his pulse budged. Kiska and myself were a wreck and the recovery continues. I feel like I'm hungover from stress. I had two days of stressful moving with a time crunch since my old apartment was and probably will screw me over (full months rent for 2 days into October? See you in court I guess) I also worked two overtime jobs until 3 am both those days because of the above referenced crap I have to pay for. The alarm went off this morning to go to work. My semi-subconscious was all "screw that noise" and emailed my boss saying blah blah vacation day. Next think I know, It's 2 pm. Oh well, I needed the rest.

This is nothing compared to Kiska's stress, however. Kiska is our cat. She is a rescue that I got my son for his birthday early this year. Kiska Jacksonovna. My son has a serious interest in Russian and Soviet culture, history and language. According to the internet, Kiska either means kitty cat or is a vulgar slang for a woman and her special area. I was not able to truly determine this, but I figure there are not many Russian speakers around so who's going to know?

Kiska was FREAKED OUT. Kiska is strictly an indoor cat and has never actually been outside. People are mean to cats, so why risk letting her get hurt.  We had to put her in a box to take her to the new house first, before the movers arrived. She did not care for this at all and made sounds that made me wonder is she was going to spit pea soup at me when I opened the box (Exorcist? Get it?). The car ride was just as bad. We got her in and locked her in the spare bedroom with her food, water and litter box.

The movers come and go and I go to check on her. I can't find her. What the heck? Finally, I find her in the back of her enclosed litter box with a very displeased look on her face. She was terrified. Kiska, you see, is a very gentle cat. She is was easy with the claws when she plays, generally comes when you call for her, and isn't really moody at all. She's a good cat. It was Friday when this happened and she is still skittish and jumpy. She has hardly left my side the entire time since the move.

This got me to thinking about animals and love. I am very gentle and caring with all animals, so she feels safe around me. I have had many cats and they usually hide when they are scared. This has not been the case with Kiska at all. She has slept with me all night since we have been here. I don't mean just in bed, but basically spooned me with her head resting on my armpit. All. Night. Long. I walk to another room, she follows. I leave or go outside, she waits by the door for my return. Even hours later, there she is waiting.

I have had dogs too and I know this is normal for them. Dogs have personality and souls. Cats are cats though. Feed me, pet me when I want it and where and want it but otherwise leave me the hell alone human. This is not the case with Kiska. She has always been sociable but not like this. I am her safe place. She is scared and knows I will protect her from whatever just happened. Is this not love? I'd love to know what is going on in her cat brain. This is similar to a child in some ways. Freaky new place or people? Latch on to dad. Maybe I am dad in this case.

Kiska and I have bonded for sure these last few days. We have grown in our relationship in many positive ways. I am a cat person for sure, but I have always known their limits as a pet. This has been a different experience though. Maybe, just maybe cats have souls as well?

P.S. Greeting Canadians! I see I have three views from the Great White North since I last looked. Take off, you hosers! (actually, don't take off at all, read more).