The jingle of keys and the creaking of leather in the night...

Here lately, I've found myself thinking about my dad a lot. It's funny that I find myself venting a little here...since I know I haven't updated this blog in forever, and that no one will probably ever read this...but I guess God knows, so that's good enough for me.

Recently my dad had a stroke and it scared us all to death, because it was just a very short while ago when we lost my grandparents...and we were'nt really over all that yet. I watched my dad suffer through a lot of pain in the time that he was hospitalized, and his recovery has been on and off, although the stroke was not severe enough to cause speech or very serious mental disfunction, it did put dad in a lot of pain and made it difficult for him to walk and function normally...and still does. I spoke with dad today, and he was at home under the house where they have a little shop, he was out drinking a cold beer and chatting with his country neighbors and seemed to be in really good spirits. I think about dad every day, he is about 3 hours away from me and I always worry about him because that ole fart will never tell me the truth about how he's really feeling. I get the usual, "Oh, I'm fine", answer every time I ask.

Every day I go through a little ritual, that my dad did for many years and that both my brothers did as well for a few years. I call it "suiting up", or "puttin on my costume" as dad used to call it. One of dad's old neighbors used to say that he knew who my dad really was, that the law-man uniform that he wore was just a costume, that in his heart he was just a good ol' boy like all the other river rats around the lake. My ritual starts out with, what in the heck did I do with my gun? Oh yeah, there it is! I round up all my gear, I call it my "turtle gear"...and if you've ever seen a cop in full tactical rig, you'll know what I mean...you really can't move too well in all that stuff...so you kinda feel like a turtle, trying to hut...hut...hut around as best you can praying that you don't fall down on your back...cause God knows you'll never be able to get up on your own...and boy is that embarrassing when the news cameras are on you! Anyways, I get all the turtle gear together, and then I put on my ballistic vest...that usually reminds me of the dangerous business that I am in...and I often whisper a little prayer that God will keep me safe and give me wisdom in the coming hours to be a good and breathing....public servant when my day is over. Next comes the shirt, fastening on my badge, my lieutenant's bars, and my name tag along the way. Then the pants, did somebody shrink these or what? Then my boots, then my gunbelt, or as I call it, my "bat belt". I go through this little routine as thousands of other law enforcement officers do every shift, every day, a long thin blue line that stretches back in history. A routine that seperates us out as those who do our best to keep the line between chaos and order apart as best we can with the tools given us...mostly a sharp wit, an honest love for people and a sense of calling. This little ritual unites us all, a brotherhood of men and women who daily lay thier lives out there on the line for the good of society as a whole, cause God knows it ain't for the money and doughnuts people! I like my gear, I wear a nylon rig so it's light, flexible and quiet, not so in the rigs of my dad's year.

Which brings me to my title....one of the memories that comes to mind all the time is from when I was a small boy, about 5 or 6 when we used to live in Shreveport Louisiana, and dad was on the Shreveport Police Department. Dad worked the evening shift for quite a few years, and somehow I was always keenly aware of the danger he faced every day out on the streets, strange thing for a little kid to be aware of. So.....when I would go to bed at night I'd always pray for my dad, and I would try to stay awake till when he got in..usually very late. I'd find myself rousing to the sound of the front door, I was very light sleeper, and I still am. There was nothing more comforting in the world to me that the sound of dad's heavy leather boots and gunbelt and the jingling of his keys as I heard him walking down the hallway. The leather made a soft creaking sound as dad moved about and his footfalls were heavy and solid under his sturdy frame...and I felt so safe, knowing that dad was home to protect us all from any burglars that might be lurking out there in the dark. As dad neared my room, I could smell the leather and the Old Spice aftershave he always wore. Often he would stop at my bedroom door looking in on me....sometimes he would come in my room and put his hand on my back if I was moving around a lot.....and I would go right to sleep knowing that he was there and everything was going to be okay.

I miss those quiet peaceful time, when the whole world was quiet, it was just me and dad, and everything was okay in the world. I'm not sure many people ever get to feel that safe, so I'm gratefull for those memories. I had a dream about dad the other night...I was a little boy waiting for him to come home.

Someday I know it's going to be something of the same feeling, someday I'll be able to lay down the gun, hang up my boots, take off the costume without having to worry about protecting everyone else anymore. I'll be able to get back in my footie pajamas and crawl up in bed and rest, knowing that my Father is watching over me and all is well. Till then, I get home at night, I walk to my son's bedroom, I lean down and kiss him on the head and tell him that I love him as he snores away. He always looks so innocent when he's asleep....wish I could keep him there protected from all the the hate and danger out in the world...but for now, I just whisper a prayer for him....take off the turtle gear and wonder how my dad's getting along tonight down on the lake...