The Cop’s Daughter, Vol. 1

August 11, 2009 in Cops and Daughters

Everyone else’s parents told them to take a sweater.

My father told me to take a gallon of gas, a quarter and a gun.

The gallon of gas was in case my date said, “Whoops! Out of gas,” the gun was to make sure he put the gas in the car and the quarter was to call him if I had to kill him. But, he suggested, it wasn’t likely to happen, since he’d be cleaning his shot gun when he pulled up. If he valued his life enough, he’d get the hint.

None of these were actions he would actually carry out, of course. My father, by that point in our lives, had already seen so much and life as a cop had been an axiomatic experience. To him, most men stalled the car and raped women. To him, most men who drove white utility vans were serial killers.

So, I’ll start out with short, staccato tap of the paintbrush, and let you in on one of the colors of my life as a cop’s daughter. I cannot promise you exact dialogue, only impressionistic likenesses.

On this particular day, I waited in the car for my father. He had entered the 7-11 to grab I-can’t-remember-what. When he returned, he was moving a little faster than usual, a little more urgent. He opened the car door, and the car dipped a little. He had climbed in hard and with purpose. He looked at me.

“I shouldn’t have left you in the car.”

I just looked at him with what I think was a questioning gaze; I wondered what he was talking about. The door was locked, and he could see me from the window most of his time in the store. This would be a cautionary measure for many parents, and if the story had stopped there, it may not have had any impression whatsoever.

At the time, my father was working in the detective bureau.

“I keep having this horrible nightmare,” he said as we drove away. “I keep dreaming that I’ve gone into the store or gotten out of the car or something, and when I come back, the car is driving away.”

Me, puzzled.

“A man is behind the wheel and he’s going to hurt you and do awful things to you. You’re crying and looking out the back window at me, shouting and banging on the glass. You’re shouting and crying and I can’t save you.”

I was a little disturbed. Why would he tell me this?

“And you’re shouting, Daddy! Help me! Save me! Don’t let him hurt me!”

Pause.

“Don’t ever unlock the door for anyone. Ok?”

“I won’t, daddy.”

“Because I couldn’t live if I had to stick your picture up on my wall.”

Tags: cops, daughters

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http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/dahlelama/ DahlELama

That was intense, TB. It’s amazing the effect people’s professions can have on their psyche, and I imagine none does so as much as that of a cop. Work in any one job long enough, and it can come to define you in many ways, and it’s clear that it not only did so for your dad, but for you as well. Somehow, “graphic designer’s daughter” never had quite the same impact on me, except for guilt that I wouldn’t be entering into the family business! Well done.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/mama-penguino-2-2-2/ Mama Penguino

Theda, I was a detective’s niece and a sheriff’s granddaughter and only got the good parts of growing up in a family of law enforcement. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you. That said, your dad sounds an awful lot like Mr. Penguino with respect to boyfriends and a display of weaponry. You must tell us what dating was like vis-a-vis your father!
http://wordsmoker.com/ BookishLookish

My daddy was not a cop, but he was a city boy who ran the streets in a gang and hung out with a rough bunch until he met my mom, a good girl, and she got him to walk the straight and narrow. Sort of. He never did give up on some of his old gambling buddies, but that’s another story.

I believe that it’s a privilege to be raised by someone who knows the score. Your dad loved you and had your back and even though his anxieties came through to you and that was scary at the time, you know that’s true. By the time you’re old enough to go on dates, you’re old enough to know what else could happen besides fun. Team Theda’s Daddy 4Evah!

More please, hon.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/theda-bara/ Theda Bara

Dahl: Art, though. Art. I think that’s a story in and of itself. odds are, you were affected by that presence in your life.

Mama: He’s an amazing man, don’t get me wrong. Amazing. And he’s my best friend in the entire world. But I definitely carried and continue to carry the weight of knowledge. I kind of grew up fast in some ways; most other kids couldn’t talk about crime–prostitution, rape, serial killing–like I could. There are two serial killers whose capture and case my father was directly involved in.

And one? My mother even knew his wife.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/theda-bara/ Theda Bara

I should have said two rather famous SK.

BL: Team mah daddeh 4evah. After all, I was the one rescuing (at least 3) friends from rather hairy situations with boys. I was safe. I was smart.
http://wordsmoker.com/ BookishLookish

@Theda: Sure thing, babe, and that’s worth more than gold.

Men like your daddy, where would we be without them? And here’s the thing: the toughness and bravery rub off even where you don’t expect it. You’re up for whatever comes your way.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/strawberry-shortcake/ Strawberry Shortcake

I am willing to bet that gallon o’ gas was heavy to carry around huh?
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/mama-penguino-2-2-2/ Mama Penguino

@Theda: Mr. P talks about implanting a GPS locator in Little P’s body somewhere so he can see if she’s stopped on a dirt road or a party house. He thinks he’s going to spy on her as she makes her way through high school. Guys, I don’t say this, but I want to: “Jesus Christ, you can’t even order a book on amazon dot com without my assistance, just how in the hell do you think you’re going to manage GPS technology in ten years?!?”
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/chillbearlatrigue/ Chillbear Latrigue

I really didn’t think I had any of these odd quirks, but after reading Theda’s story it occurred to me that I’m probably the only person that goes into a party and says, “Whoever is driving the Green Jetta, I smashed the window and took your purse to save you from having to report it stolen later.” I’m a huge hit at parties.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/theda-bara/ Theda Bara

Chil: Oh, man. I’m that friend that says, “Why are you driving around with your doors unlocked???” etc etc etc
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/bjonston/ BJonston

@Chill: Any Colombian will tell you only fools leave their purses or anything else of value in plain view.

@Theda: Where I grew up you learn to drive with the doors locked and windows up while in the city but unlocked and open when you’re on the highway. Reason being that in the city, you will get your watch stolen (at best) or carjacked and kidnapped (at worst), but on the highway, if you leave the doors locked and get into a fiery car crash (as happens daily) you’d better be able to get out of that car fast, before your skin melts off your face. So you eventually develop a reflex where as soon as the last door closes the locks go down, but as soon as you hit the highway they go back up. Funny, the things paranoia can do to you.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/fictionsinmotion/ Vaquero

I used to have this repeating dream about myself when I was a kid. Two men snatched me from my driveway where I was skipping rope and shoved me into the backseat of their car. As they drove away, I banged on the back window, screaming for help and there was all of my family, mother, father, two sisters, huddled together at the foot of the driveway watching, doing nothing.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/mama-penguino-2-2-2/ Mama Penguino

@Vaq: My God! You need me to come tuck you in. I’d have you lay on your stomach and I’d lightly rub your back while telling you all about your last trip to the beach and how the yellow sun warmed your little body and how your toes loved the feel of the grainy sand and how when the water lapped at your little feet and ankles, you felt the cooling of the ocean and when you waded in, you saw sweet little fishes who came to the surface to welcome you into their cool, blue world. Call me anytime.

@BJ et al.: the most enjoyable thing about where I live is we never lock our doors. In fact, I don’t think I have a key to our house. We had houseguests from Australia when we went to China and every other time we’ve left town, we just shut the doors and call it a day. The last murder was in 1951 and my cousin, a filmmaker, made a movie about it. Yours truly plays a small role, which was the end of my acting dream. In a word, I suck. Roger Ebert named it as one of his top ten of that year, but I see Netflix gives it a 2 out of 5, which is more like it.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/lipsticklibrarian/ LipstickLibrarian

Theda, my dad was a cop, too, but yours seems to be a stand-up guy. Mine was a monster.

Looking forward to Vol. 2!
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/theda-bara/ Theda Bara

Vaq: Holy shit. You DO need a bedtime story…..a nice one.

Mama: See, now I’m DYING to know which movie it is.

LL: My father has told me some stories about messed-up cops. He has said that arrogance is half the reason many cases don’t get solved. I’d be curious to learn more about your father, as the other side of the cop’s daughter coin–if it wasn’t such a painful thing to ask.
http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/lipsticklibrarian/ LipstickLibrarian

@TB: Oh, he was a great cop. But the macho-Mexican-Marine-Catholic-cop combo did not make for a tranquil home life.

I might write about him, although I did give some juicy bits away in my 20 Things post.

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