(no subject)
On the bus back to Eugene yesterday, I watched a pick-up artist in action. The guy was a regular (name deleted). First, he hit on the girl sitting in front of me relentlessly. She got off the bus before it got dark though. So his next mark was the fat girl sitting across the aisle from me, who moved up to the previous girl's seat to have a closer conversation with him. Within a half hour, they were making out. Honestly, of all places.
I have to say, that if that kind of superficial charm is what passes for charisma these days, I have to say that I'm glad not to have much of it.
I was reading On Combat, and thinking about the things I read in it. Two stories were told that really reached out to me. One told of a rookie cop who, during the briefing for his first day on the force met the role model that everyone else in the department looked up to. The guy was 6'3", 230 lbs. of pure muscle, one of the most seasoned, tough, and intelligent cops around. Everyone felt honored to be around when he told his stories of situations he'd been in. Whenever a rookie would ask him if he had any tips for them, he'd respond with, "So you want to be a hero? Do what you do, but you're never a real cop until you know what they taste like." All of the rookies had bets on "what they taste like" was referring to. About a year went by before one of them walked up to him and mentioned his record of hundreds of arrests, plenty of fights, and said that he'd proven himself out on the streets well enough that he thought he deserved to know what the saying meant. The older cop responded that if he didn't know, he still wasn't a real cop.
So the next day, the rookie was out on his shift, and with fifteen minutes left before he had to go home, he thought he saw his daughter standing on a porch. He backed up to check again, and it definitely wasn't his daughter. But he still felt it was strange that a young girl (about seven) would be standing on a porch alone at 11:45 pm. He walked up to talk to her, and asked her what she was doing out there. On his approach, the little girl looked at him like he was her knight in shining armor. She said that her parents had gotten in a fight, and now her mother wouldn't wake up. The rookie moved around the house and approached a window to see a man standing over an unconscious woman, blood all over his hands. He kicked in the door, and pushed past the man to try and resuscitate the woman, but it was too late. She was dead. The man said he didn't know what happened, they were just fighting over his drinking, and he pushed her and she hit her head. The officer called for EMS and back-up, and on his way out, he had the father in handcuffs. He now knew that he had gone from being the little girl's hero to a monster, who had now appeared to take both of her parents away from her. He tried to approach her to say something, he didn't know what, and she turned away and ran back into the house.
Later, the rookie sat in the locker room, running over the whole situation, wishing he would have been there sooner, wishing there were something he could have done differently, and he began to weep for the little girl. A big hand settled on his shoulder, and he heard the veteran's voice say "Now you know what they taste like." The rookie realized that the veteran's saying referred to tears. "Sometimes, you can do everything right and the outcome doesn't change. You may not be the hero you thought you'd be, but now you're a real cop."
It was a story told to illustrate the difference between the sheepdog and the wolf. They are both blessed with the gift of aggression, but the sheepdog loves his flock and weeps for their every moment of pain.
The other story wasn't quite so dark, nor so long. A police officer was out with his wife shopping at a grocery store. He knew that if anything should happen while she was with him, she would react by grabbing his arm, so he always made sure she was on his left so that his right arm would be free to draw his gun. Wherever they went, he was ALWAYS on the right. This day as they were shopping, a young man came around a corner and drew a gun on them. The young man was someone the officer had put in prison, and wasn't happy about it. Everything happened so fast, not a moment's hesitation to even have to THINK about what they were going to do. The wife grabbed the officer's left arm, and he pulled her behind him while drawing his weapon, and he dropped the assailant before they could get hurt.
This senior officer bought himself and his wife twenty more years to live that day, by being prepared. If he'd drawn one second slower, their grandchildren would have never known them. But he knew that being a police officer was to train and prepare, and to always be alert, always be aware for that one day when something would go terribly wrong, and he would have to take a kill shot. He didn't stop to think about having to kill another human being, and he suffered no adverse psychological effects afterwards, since he had made the decision in advance. He didn't deny that when it came down to it, he could only rely on himself to save his wife's life, and his own, and since he never had any delusions that it could never happen, since he knew his profession meant gambling with his very life, he wasn't inhibited by fear in any way. As I said, there is no safety in denial. The worst will probably not happen, but it can, and I know there's no way I could live with myself if it happened and I neglected to be prepared for it.
I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this, you're probably getting more skeptical about me by the minute. Maybe because I want you to understand some things about me better. It's not that I don't know how to take care of myself. I'm not planning to die, and when my time comes, heaven knows I won't go down easily. But I am prepared for the very real possibility that I may die a young death; there is no safety in denial. And maybe one little thing I do makes someone happy just for a moment, or gives them hope when they need it most, or buys them twenty more years of their life. Is that not a cause worth living for? It may sound like some adolescent fantasy, but I guarantee you, it's not. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's maintaining a sense of logical reality. There is nothing morally superior about what I am, or what I choose to be. I simply could not be anything else.
--excerpt from letters to Aubrey, 7/18/2007
I have to say, that if that kind of superficial charm is what passes for charisma these days, I have to say that I'm glad not to have much of it.
I was reading On Combat, and thinking about the things I read in it. Two stories were told that really reached out to me. One told of a rookie cop who, during the briefing for his first day on the force met the role model that everyone else in the department looked up to. The guy was 6'3", 230 lbs. of pure muscle, one of the most seasoned, tough, and intelligent cops around. Everyone felt honored to be around when he told his stories of situations he'd been in. Whenever a rookie would ask him if he had any tips for them, he'd respond with, "So you want to be a hero? Do what you do, but you're never a real cop until you know what they taste like." All of the rookies had bets on "what they taste like" was referring to. About a year went by before one of them walked up to him and mentioned his record of hundreds of arrests, plenty of fights, and said that he'd proven himself out on the streets well enough that he thought he deserved to know what the saying meant. The older cop responded that if he didn't know, he still wasn't a real cop.
So the next day, the rookie was out on his shift, and with fifteen minutes left before he had to go home, he thought he saw his daughter standing on a porch. He backed up to check again, and it definitely wasn't his daughter. But he still felt it was strange that a young girl (about seven) would be standing on a porch alone at 11:45 pm. He walked up to talk to her, and asked her what she was doing out there. On his approach, the little girl looked at him like he was her knight in shining armor. She said that her parents had gotten in a fight, and now her mother wouldn't wake up. The rookie moved around the house and approached a window to see a man standing over an unconscious woman, blood all over his hands. He kicked in the door, and pushed past the man to try and resuscitate the woman, but it was too late. She was dead. The man said he didn't know what happened, they were just fighting over his drinking, and he pushed her and she hit her head. The officer called for EMS and back-up, and on his way out, he had the father in handcuffs. He now knew that he had gone from being the little girl's hero to a monster, who had now appeared to take both of her parents away from her. He tried to approach her to say something, he didn't know what, and she turned away and ran back into the house.
Later, the rookie sat in the locker room, running over the whole situation, wishing he would have been there sooner, wishing there were something he could have done differently, and he began to weep for the little girl. A big hand settled on his shoulder, and he heard the veteran's voice say "Now you know what they taste like." The rookie realized that the veteran's saying referred to tears. "Sometimes, you can do everything right and the outcome doesn't change. You may not be the hero you thought you'd be, but now you're a real cop."
It was a story told to illustrate the difference between the sheepdog and the wolf. They are both blessed with the gift of aggression, but the sheepdog loves his flock and weeps for their every moment of pain.
The other story wasn't quite so dark, nor so long. A police officer was out with his wife shopping at a grocery store. He knew that if anything should happen while she was with him, she would react by grabbing his arm, so he always made sure she was on his left so that his right arm would be free to draw his gun. Wherever they went, he was ALWAYS on the right. This day as they were shopping, a young man came around a corner and drew a gun on them. The young man was someone the officer had put in prison, and wasn't happy about it. Everything happened so fast, not a moment's hesitation to even have to THINK about what they were going to do. The wife grabbed the officer's left arm, and he pulled her behind him while drawing his weapon, and he dropped the assailant before they could get hurt.
This senior officer bought himself and his wife twenty more years to live that day, by being prepared. If he'd drawn one second slower, their grandchildren would have never known them. But he knew that being a police officer was to train and prepare, and to always be alert, always be aware for that one day when something would go terribly wrong, and he would have to take a kill shot. He didn't stop to think about having to kill another human being, and he suffered no adverse psychological effects afterwards, since he had made the decision in advance. He didn't deny that when it came down to it, he could only rely on himself to save his wife's life, and his own, and since he never had any delusions that it could never happen, since he knew his profession meant gambling with his very life, he wasn't inhibited by fear in any way. As I said, there is no safety in denial. The worst will probably not happen, but it can, and I know there's no way I could live with myself if it happened and I neglected to be prepared for it.
I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this, you're probably getting more skeptical about me by the minute. Maybe because I want you to understand some things about me better. It's not that I don't know how to take care of myself. I'm not planning to die, and when my time comes, heaven knows I won't go down easily. But I am prepared for the very real possibility that I may die a young death; there is no safety in denial. And maybe one little thing I do makes someone happy just for a moment, or gives them hope when they need it most, or buys them twenty more years of their life. Is that not a cause worth living for? It may sound like some adolescent fantasy, but I guarantee you, it's not. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's maintaining a sense of logical reality. There is nothing morally superior about what I am, or what I choose to be. I simply could not be anything else.
--excerpt from letters to Aubrey, 7/18/2007