Black and Blue

“True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost.”-Arthur Ashe

They are called an uncalculable number of foul names. Disrespected and dogged constantly. They are berated for not getting somewhere fast enough. Blamed for using excessive force or "Police Brutality" because they are protecting themselves. (Take a second and ask yourself this; A man is coming at me armed,what do I do? I highly doubt your sitting there thinking to yourself, I'm going to let him hurt me) It's instinct to protect yourself. Your brain isn't going to just sit by and not make your body react to a threat. It's going to send signals to make you react. That's called survival instinct. If you're getting attacked by a person and you have something to protect yourself with you're going to use it. It doesn't matter if you've lived in Antarctica by yourself your entire life or if you were raised in New York. Your brain doesn't care where your body happens to have been raised, it's going to react the same every time. It's going to fight for survival. Your race doesn't matter, your upbringing it doesn't matter, your social status that's not a factor either. But it's only the "victims" of "Police Brutality" that get a voice. You don't ever seem to hear that the very people who put their lives on the line daily for just the kind of people that are trying to hurt them were being attacked. No that part of the story is censored out because someone was being "victimized".The fact that said victim was trying to harm the Police man/woman never seems to matter. I feel it sadly necessary to point such things out.

Despite the way they are treated they still do their jobs. You can be the person who is badmouthing them and if you need help they will be there. Complain about them not getting to you fast enough, shake your head at a "story" of "Police Brutality" and call it a misuse of power or whatever your brains can think of, it's water off a ducks back. If you need their help they will show up at your door ready to risk their lives, just because that is their jobs, that is who they are. It takes a very "messed" up person to want to be in Law Enforcement. I say that not as an insult, but as a simple truth, and credit to the men and women in Black and Blue. Why you ask? Ordinary people don't usually risk their lives daily to save others no matter the cost. Sure you might risk your life for a friend or a family member. But most people wouldn't do it for a complete stranger, and that is exactly what they do. They are set apart by their dedication,and heroism. That desire that compels them to do what few would be willing to do, makes them different. It makes them abnormal and causes them to serve, to risk everything, to do what the majority of the population wouldn't dare do. They might be considered an ordinary human but they are far more than ordinary, they are extraordinary. They don't get the honor and respect they deserve and that isn't right.

They do not asked to be respected and honored. They simply should be. It should never come down to having to ask people to respect them, you simply should. There is a reason children grow up wanting to be Policemen. It's sure not because they want to wear a shiny badge. It's because they unlike their older counterparts, respect those in Law Enforcement. They recognize that service, they may not understand it completely, but you can ask a child what a Policemen does, and chances are you will get told, they catch the bad guys. The answer wouldn't be elaborate, it would be plain, simple, and honest. While their jobs involve far more a child doesn't need to know anymore to get that the position in such a career is one to look up to. These days too many people fawn over sports stars. I will be the first to admit, I admire athletes yes they are good at what they do. Not everyone has the skill to play sports. But growing up in a house that was headed by a Firefighter father, it wasn't hard for me at all to see who the real people are that should be cited as Heroes, and it sure shouldn't be those that wear jerseys.

On a personal level disrespecting the people who risk their lives daily, quite frankly pisses me off, and makes me sick to my stomach. I come from a family who serves the populace in such a way, and doesn't and didn't get the credit they deserve for doing what they do. With a late grandfather that was a Narcotics detective, a retired Firefighter for a father, a brother and brother-in-law that are Firefighters, and an older brother that is a Policeman himself, I take things like this personally. I'd like to see those who complain, who bash because their families are hurt trying to attack a Policeman, who disrespect, hit the streets as a Cop, or throw on turnout gear and run into a building full of flames. See how long they last. I've never done it myself, it's in my blood to do such a thing, but I myself don't have the calling to Protect and Serve or Fight Fire. But I can bet they wouldn't last long, and maybe, just maybe, such an experience would give them some sense, some respect for those that do.

Dedicated to those who wear the Black and Blue who have served, are serving, and have given their lives to protect the people that don't respect, or honor them like they should. And personally to my grandfather, father, and brothers.

It's January 22nd

Video (Click this and listen while reading please.)

It's January 22nd. Two days after my birthday. A day that has no historical significance nor is it some big holiday. Not one that people worldwide celebrate anyway. But it is my great grandmother's birthday. I don't know how old she would be today,though I think she would be in her 80's if not older. Meeting her isn't something I can remember. The only memory I can remember of her from when I was little was the day of my Great Grandaddy Joe's funeral. I can remember sitting in her kitchen in Nashville, asking about eating one of her wax grapes. I think I was six at the time. These were the biggest graps I've ever seen and she had them sitting in a bowl on her table. I can remember her laughing at me and telling me that they weren't real, so no I couldn't eat them. Before that day I can't remember a thing about her. Until several years ago I didn't see her again although my family told stories about her and Grandaddy Joe from when they were growing up. In fact right now in my bedroom I have one of Grandaddy's chairs. It's brown and short and it spins. I have it sitting under my lamp, in front of my bookshelf, so I can read in it. To be honest I don't remember Grandaddy Joe, but I do like having that chair.

I'm twenty-one as of right now and I think I was fourteen or fifteen when Nanny moved from Nashville to Chattanooga. I can remember very well the drive up to her apartment to help get her things to move them here. I remember watching my father and older brothers, my brother in law Greg, and Popastein, saran wrap her huge China Cabinet. And then carefully and in no small amount of time load it into the U-Haul truck. I remember stopping at a gas station and trying Greg's Red Bull on the way home. Other than that I don't remember much about that day other than my mother pointing out things or places that she remembered from when she was little.

Once Nanny was moved into the Nursing home she was in the visits began. Now I can tell you as a young teenager I could have honestly cared less about visiting Nanny. What good was it for me to go visit a woman who couldn't remember who I was, who I barely knew, and who wouldn't remember I was even there after I left. In fact many of those visits were spent outback on the patio watching birds while my mom and dad visited Nanny. It was the times I stayed in there with them though and listened to my great grandmother that I will never forget. I heard stories of field mice being put down a certain farm hand's shirt. Of them tying paper to a cats feet and hanging it up to a washing line, to name a few. She always seemed to be wearing a blue sweat shirt and sweat pants. And she was always so proud of her hair on the days it was fixed.

Most of the times we visited we took her a chocolate milkshake from Sonic. We had to go and get it at least half an hour before we saw her because it would have to melt before she could get it through the straw. And she loved creme drops and horehound. To this day I can't pass by a Sonic or stop in and get anything without thinking about her. Everytime I go into a Cracker Barrel or into Sportman's Warehouse and see the bags of "Old Fashion" candy that contain the creme drops and horehound I think of those many visits. It never failed either, when she had a milkshake, Cody and I always, always, were asked by her if we wanted some. I can remember her huge eye glasses with the boxy frame, they were black.

I've always been told that I would have loved Nanny when she was younger. That she was quite the woman. By now I've heard many a tale from my sister or mother or aunt about visiting her and Grandaddy Joe. Have to say, yeah I would have loved to have met her when she was young. But to be honest I loved meeting her when I did. When those stories could be buried in my memory forever. The way her voice sounded. The feel of her arms around me when I hugged her goodbye or her hand as it patted mine. Things that I probably shouldn't remember considering I didn't know her for that long but I do.

Today isn't a national holiday and it's not celebrated or remembered by the world. Today is my Nanny's birthday and it's a day I remember every year.