Thoughts and Prayers

"A Cop on the Take"

First he takes the oath.
Now look at all he takes -

He takes it in stride when people call him pig.
He takes time to stop and talk to children.
He takes your verbal abuse while giving you a ticket you really deserve.
He takes on creeps you would be afraid to even look at.

He takes time away from his family to keep you safe.
He takes your injured children to the hospital.
He takes the graveyard shift without complaint because it's his turn.
He takes his life into his hands daily.

He takes you home when your car breaks down.
He takes time to explain why both you headlights have to work.
He takes the job no one else wants - telling you a loved one has died.
He takes criminals to jail.

He takes in sights that would make you cry.
Sometimes he cries too, but He takes it anyway because someone has to.
If he is lucky, He takes retirement.
He takes memories to bed each night that you couldn't bear for even one day.

Sometimes, He Takes a bullet.

And, yes, occasionally he may take a free cup of coffee.
Then one day he pays for all he has taken,
and God takes him.

by

Wayne A. Linney
Portsmouth VA Police

It was probably moved because it is a pain in the arse to read all these long winded prayers and poems that nobody but you like. So now if somebody has no life they can come to one thread to read all this #@$%^%$

The poems and stories are liked by many. You just happen to be showing your immaturity and ignorance. I feel sorry for those that have to work with someone like you. You need to so sme growing up.

It was probably moved because it is a pain in the arse to read all these long winded prayers and poems that nobody but you like. So now if somebody has no life they can come to one thread to read all this #@$%^%$

The poems and stories are liked by many. You just happen to be showing your immaturity and ignorance. I feel sorry for those that have to work with someone like you. You need to so sme growing up.

Is this the guy that can't keep it in his pants, cheating on his wife? Or is this the guy that teachs ethics but has none?

It was probably moved because it is a pain in the arse to read all these long winded prayers and poems that nobody but you like. So now if somebody has no life they can come to one thread to read all this #@$%^%$

The poems and stories are liked by many. You just happen to be showing your immaturity and ignorance. I feel sorry for those that have to work with someone like you. You need to so sme growing up.

Great. Now you have one place you can go to read them. Its too bad there is not a thread on here that will help you get a life.

"Yes Me the Lousy Cop"

Well Mr. Citizen, I guess you have me figured out. I seem to fit neatly into the category you place me in. I'm stereotyped, characterized, standardized, classified, grouped, and always typical. I'm the "lousy cop." Unfortunately, the reverse isn't true. I can never figure you out.

From birth you teach your children that I am the bogeyman, and then you're shocked when they identify me with my traditional enemy, the criminal. You accuse me of coddling juveniles, until I catch your kid doing something. You may take an hour for lunch, and have several coffee breaks each day, but point me out as a loafer if you see me having just one cup.

You pride yourself on your polished manners, but think nothing of interrupting my meals at noon with your troubles. You raise hell about the guy who cuts you off in traffic, but let me catch you doing the same thing and I'm picking on you. You know all the traffic laws, but never got a single ticket you deserved. You shout "foul" if you observe me driving fast enroute to an emergency call, but literally raise hell if I take more than ten seconds responding to your call!!!

You call it "part of the job" if someone strikes me, but it's "police brutality" if I strike back. You wouldn't think of telling your dentist how to pull a badly decayed tooth, or your doctor how to take out your appendix, but you are always willing to give me a few pointers on law enforcement. You talk to me in a manner and use language that would assure a bloody nose from anyone else, but you expect me to stand and take it without batting an eye.

You cry, "Something has to be done about all the crime!" but you can't be bothered with getting involved.

You've got no use for me at all, but, of course, it's OK if I change a tire for your wife, or deliver your baby in the back seat of my patrol car on the way to the hospital, or save your son's life with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, or work many hours over-time to find your lost daughter.

So Mr. Citizen, you stand there on your soapbox and rant and rave about the way I do my job, calling me every name in the book, but never stop a minute to think that your property, your family, or maybe your life might depend on one thing, ME, or one if my buddies.

By

Author Unknown

It was probably moved because it is a pain in the arse to read all these long winded prayers and poems that nobody but you like. So now if somebody has no life they can come to one thread to read all this #@$%^%$

The poems and stories are liked by many. You just happen to be showing your immaturity and ignorance. I feel sorry for those that have to work with someone like you. You need to so sme growing up.

If I want to read a story I will buy a book at Barnes & Noble. If I want to read a poem, I will stop by Aimee's house on N.E. 20th Ave where I am sure she will write one. Suggest others do the same.

WRITTEN BY A FORMER POLICE OFFICER

In 1974 when I first joined the police department, I new there would be special occasions my family would spend without me. Knowing that fact didn’t make the task any easier. The celebrations I missed that first year's depressed me and sometimes made me feel bitter. Working on Christmas Eve was always the worst.

On Christmas Eve in 1977, I learned that blessing can come disguised as misfortune, and honor is more than just a word.

I was riding one-man patrol on the 4x12 shift. The night was cold. Everywhere I looked I saw reminders of the holiday: families packing their cars with presents, beautifully decorated trees in living room windows and roofs adorned with tiny sleighs. I all added to my holiday funk.

The evening had been relatively quiet; there were calls for barking dogs and a residential false burglar alarm. There was nothing to make the night pass any quicker. I thought of my own family and sunk further into depression.

Shortly after 2200 hours I got a radio call to the home of an elderly, terminally ill man. I parked my patrol car in front of a simple Cape Cod style home. First aid kit in hand, I walked up the short path to the front door. As I approached, a woman who seemed to be about 80 years old opened the door. He's in here she said, leading me to a back bedroom.

We passed through a living room that was furnished in a style I had come to associate with older people. The sofa has an afghan blanket draped over its back and a dark, solid Queen Anne chair say next to an unused fireplace. The mantle was cluttered with an eccentric mix of several photos, some ceramic figurines and an antique clock. A floor lamp provided soft lighting.

We entered a small bedroom where a frail looking man lay in bed with a blanket pulled up to his chin. He wore a blank stare on his ashen, skeletal face. His breathing was shallow and labored. He was barely alive.

The trappings of illness all around his bed. The nightstand was littered with a large number of pill vials. An oxygen bottle stood nearby. Its plastic hose, with facemask attached rested on the blanket.

I asked the old woman why she called the police. She simply shrugged and nodded sadly toward her husband, indicating it was his request. I looked at him and he stared intently into my eyes. He seemed relaxed now. I didn’t understand the suddenly calm expression on his face.

I looked around the room again. A dresser stood along the wall to the left of the bed. On it was the usual memorabilia: ornate perfume bottles, white porcelain pin case, and a wooden jewelry case. There were also several photos in simple frames. One caught my eye and I walked closer to the dresser for a closer look. The picture showed a young man dressed in a police uniform. It was unmistakably a photo of the man in bed. I knew then why I was there.

I looked at the old man and he motioned with his hand toward the side of the bed. I walked over and stood beside him. He slid a thin arm from under the covers and took my hand. Soon, I felt his hand go limp, I looked at his face. There was no fear there. I saw only peace.

He knew he was dying; he was aware his time was very near. I know now that he was afraid of what was about to happen and he wanted the protection of a fellow cop on his journey. A caring God had seen to it that his child would be delivered safely to him. The honor of being his escort fell to me.

When I left at the end of my tour that night, the temperature had seemed to have risen considerably, and all the holiday displays I a saw on the way home made me smile.

I no longer feel sorry for myself for having to work on Christmas Eve. I have chosen an honorable profession. I pray that when it's my turn to leave this world here will be a cop there to hold my hand and remind me that I have nothing to fear.

I wish all my brother's and sister's who have to work this Christmas Eve all the Joy and warmth of the Season.

This is a true story is about a special little boy and some special firefighters. It could just as easily apply to law enforcement officers. Think what a difference you could make in someone's life.



In Phoenix, Arizona, a 26-year-old mother stared down at her 6 year old son, who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent, she wanted her son to grow up & fulfill all his dreams. Now, that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dream to come true. She took her son's hand and asked, "Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?" Mommy, "I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up." Mom smiled back and said, "Let's see if we can make your wish come true."

Later that day she went to her local fire Department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son's final wish and Asked if it might be possible to give her 6 year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine. Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary Fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat - not a toy -- one-with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots." "They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast."

Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the Paramedic's' van, and even the fire chief's car. He was also videotaped for the local news program. Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible.

One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept - that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a Fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition. The chief replied, "We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favor? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire?" "It's the department coming to see one of its finest members one more time.
And will you open the window to his room?"

About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to Billy's third floor open window-------- 16 fire-fighters climbed up the ladder into Billy's room. With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they LOVED him. With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the fire chief and said, "Chief am I really a fireman now?" "Billy, you are, and the Head Chief, Jesus, is holding your hand," the chief said With those words, Billy smiled and said, "I know, He's been holding my hand all day, and The angels have been singing.." He closed his eyes one last time.

My instructions were to give this to people that I wanted God to bless and I picked you. Please pass this to people you want to be blessed. This story is powerful. Uplifting stories are one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost, but a lot of rewards, let's continue to uplift one another.

Is it that idiot chief writing those poems because he wants to hide how everyone hates him ? Or is it that loser that is cheating on his wife and wasting the tax payers money with his nonsense. We are tired of the poems.

Is it that idiot chief writing those poems because he wants to hide how everyone hates him ? Or is it that loser that is cheating on his wife and wasting the tax payers money with his nonsense. We are tired of the poems.

WRONG ON BOTH COUNTS!!!
It is someone else!
I am not stopping either!