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Friday, November 28, 2008

They did not cover this on 'Career Day.'

Time can standstill. And you can get focused.

My attention, at that moment, was burning with a white heat as I concentrated on this firearm screwed into my skull. I assure you I was so very focused it was as if this was the only mass produced, illegal 9mm in the entire world. It was certainly the only one pressed above my left eye, at the time.

I did not see my life pass before my eyes. Tunnel vision, a loud roaring in my head. Slow.

I kept my voice even and low and talked my way to the back of my car.

Two of them. Teenagers. With a grown up pistol.

I thought of the .38 where I could not reach it. I realized in an instant I had made a life changing mistake.

If I had reached my gun, would I have used it? Easy to say...harder to do.

I had given them my wallet, and it opened onto my I.D. and badge. The shield gleamed in the glow of a cheap gold tooth.

I realized that within the time it would take for a few more blinks, my children would not have a father, and my body would be on a slab in Parkland. This was not fucking fair.

The one with the wallet told the other one to "Shoot this motherfucker, he's a COP!"

The hammer was thumbed back. That bit of information did not matter all that much, depending on if the automatic was single or double action, although it will in the film, and the scene will appropriately kick ass.

What concerned me then were the last moments of my life and how horribly fucked you can become just for turning off James Brown in a redneck parking lot.

I looked at his trigger finger. I would love to report that I pulled some sweet hop-socky moves on the both of them, saying something pithy as I handcuffed them.

I didn't. Forever passed in an instant. His finger moved.

And I wondered if it would hurt.

I skip the masquerade and fly right by the 'agenda'.

Things get narrow. And as my denial system is similar to a force of nature, I start to believe my own shit. Bad idea, each and every time.

I start to think that maybe this new profession was a way of 'giving back' to a community I more or less turned my back on. For all the foul shit I had done, this was a way of measuring out the scales.

Water seeks it's own level, too. I made arrests and felt fraudulant. I knew I was playing 'cop', and I seriously did not want any one getting injured, especially me. So I made up for the fear with going the other way.

They needed a 'first in', going into a potentially hostile room? I'm you're boy. First to arrive on scene. Ditto.

Took a first responder hostage negotiations course. Language. All about the relationship of the language to the given situation. Want to de-escalate, not kick it into an accidental blood bath, with a poorly phrased request.

I slammed it into overdrive. Full time 9-5 at the DA's office, eighteen hours a week on armed patrol, another twenty at a security job and early morning college classes downtown.

My plate was full. (As my last publisher so eloquently put it; "Get a bigger plate.")

The sleep was managed with a very strict, (fast) sleep schedule, to fit the whole thing into someone else's workweek.

Average Wednesday morning: Parking my car a couple blocks away from my class downtown. It's early, no one's out yet. I was the only one on the lot. Book bag, with .38, on the seat next to me; one foot out the drivers door, turning off the radio.

I turn to my left and meet a 9mm pressed against my temple.

The morning just got real...

My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...