I have an extra set of my patrol CDs. You get three. If you enter the contest a few posts back, the three CDs are as follows:
Rolling Dirty...Sarg and I's favorite.
Residential Slids...Fargo's slow music while blacked out or in need of decompression.
Transport Tunes...yep...torturing the prisoners. Not really. Most of them liked it.
So...enter. If you wish. Book and CD set goes to the winner. If they opt out of the CD set, we will have two to give away. And don't get excited, these are not professionally produced. They are MINE. The ones I rolled dirty with. I had uploaded my stuff to iTunes, so you get the actually memorabilia. It could be worth millions someday. LMAO.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
When Johnny Cash asked me to help with Vacation Bible School, I was hesitant because I haven't taught VBS since 1994 or maybe later. Kids make me pee my pants. Not really. That was a joke. I told him I would help. I started out with the art work, making life-sized soldiers, then it went on to other things. This led to the big question, "Could you help teach the older kids?" It's in the evening after work.
Well, I couldn't turn down God. I said I would.
Let me tell you what kind of surprise I was in for. I was hoping to be a pillar for these kids who were schooled in Jesus more so than I was. I had a rude awakening coming.
When I arrived, I looked around and scoped out my class. The other teacher came up to me and said there were 27 and we were to teach together. I told him I was grateful for that and he said he was also.
My class was worse than Juvenile Detention. You could at least grab them by the hair or arm and direct them in those situations. In VBS, you have to be nice and a non-cop version. I kept praying for God to control me and to rescue me. He answered 1 of the 2. I didn't beat anyone the first day.
Day Two was no different, except we lost the one kid that I did not think we could reach or that it would be a task. He had had all black clothing, long hair down to his butt, and he was withdrawn, totally uncomfortable. He wanted to hide in the corner with the girls or he hid to where we had to round him up. I wasn't too sure what kind of life he had. I had hoped that was the one kid we would have reached, but he didn't show up the second day. It wasn't meant to be at that time or place. However, the others were there to toughen me up, to test me. They were going to mold me into a better person. Or I was going to bring my handcuffs to church and cuff them to pews. Hearding 27 teen agers is like herding ants with a toothpick.
Cop instinct never goes away. I am out of my element. Day Two woke those kids up in a big way when we gathered in the sanctuary for Johnny Cash's lesson. I think it took a different direction than it was intended. He was trying to make a point to the kids that no matter what happens in our lives that we think is bad, there is always hope and opportunity to change.
He went around and asked the kids what was the worst thing that happened to them. Their answers were typical...their iPod got taken away, they lost their family pet, they got a spanking...etc. Then the preacher asked anyone else to tell the class what was the worst thing they experienced in their lives.
The man that teaches with me stood up and in a very shaken but controlled voice stated, "In 2006, my 16 year old daughter was asked to walk to the store to get the family some milk and she never came back." The church could have fallen on my head at that time and I still would have sat there in shock, running my mind as to how anyone could take that, let alone stand up and tell all these kids. He was a nice man and seemed like he fit into the world without strife. His teen aged son was a nice, good looking kid. They both went to the church on Sundays. I felt a heavy burden in my heart. The entire church was so quiet, even the stinkers did not say a word, but looked at the man in shock.
Then it happened. I wanted to know the case. I knew it was not the time. I might have to ask the Sheriff about this one and maybe my new found friend would tell me in time. I remember meeting him on the first day and he asked me if I had been a cop because he had heard that from the preacher. I had nodded my head. He had just shook my hand and said, "It's nice to meet you. Welcome."
It was now odd that at that moment, maybe he was reaching out. Maybe that was my cue from God. I have reviewed cases before, but mostly on the request of someone in the field, an investigator, another peace officer. Sometimes a family member would ask me to look at their case. Often, I would find the same thing the cops did and I would have to let them down. Perhaps that is what is about to happen here. Maybe I am supposed to tell him the bad news in a different way so he can move on. I don't know that anyone can move on without a body, without the answers to their questions. I have dealt with this before. And sometimes even as a cop, not having closure is something that haunts us forever.
Posted by Momma Fargo at 5:41 AM