"As practice becomes more repetitive and routine...the practitioner may miss important opportunities to think about what he is doing... He learns, as often happens, to be selectively inattentive to phenomena that do not fit. Then he may offer from boredom or 'burn-out' and afflict the people around him with the consequences of his narrowness and rigidity." (Schon 1984:61)-The Reflective Practitioner: How Professionals Think in Action
Several months ago I received a panicked call from my brother in law who had just been involved in a “road rage” incident on his way to work in Boston. He asked me if we could meet. He called me, I’m certain, because he’s my brother in law, but more likely because I’m a police officer. The reason why I was chosen to be an audience for his agitation, fear, anger, and outrage eluded me, but as the dutiful relative, I sat and listened. He began to ramble on like the white noise of a low humming fan, with a lengthy story filled with details, about how traumatic it was for him to have a roll of pennies thrown at him from a “roadway antagonist” during rush hour. As he did so, a slight smile came across my face. “What’s so funny”, he asked. “No, nothing, sorry go ahead” He continued on with blithering effectiveness, relating the story and how difficult of a situation it was for him to have been in such a difficult and trying experience.
I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing!
“What the hell are you laughing at”, he said. “Nothing”, not a thing…
How was I supposed to explain to my brother in law that the experience that “traumatized” him so deeply, causing him to leave work early that day, was a JOKE! An utterly laughable, belly cramping, perfectly scripted comedic event.
Now at this point in the story, it is likely that the average reader is developing their pang of conscious guilt and defensive outrage at such a callous position. After all, “Who could be such a rotten person incapable of supporting the feelings of a relative and their traumatic experience?”
However, as difficult as this is to accept, there are some people out there who are likely reading this story, that are beginning to develop a slight crack in the edges of their lips. Like the emergence of a newborn volcano peaking its head through the surface of the Pacific Ocean, a smile is beginning to form across their faces. Quite possibly, a low muttered chuckle will accompany their smile, confirming their identity as a cop!
What traumatizes most people, shuts them down, and dislodges their sense of safety and well-being, is what Cops call “work”. My brother in law gets some pennies thrown at him by a passing motorist and the world stops. Calls are made to every relative who conveys their “aghast” at what must have been such a “difficult experience” The supporting and loving wife suggests leaving work early since, “you’re going to be of no value to the company anyway dear, with what you are dealing with emotionally”. (Cops chuckle here)…
Rather than demonize the police officers who, like me, are laughing at my brother in law, I would ask that you pause for a second and reflect on what is expected of us as cops. I am not suggesting for a second that my brother in law is cowardly or weak. In fact, he is quite the opposite. I am suggesting he is human. He was faced with an uneasy situation and processed it like all people do. So then if that is the case, let me ask you this… what about us?
I once went on a call to a home where a toddler had managed to fall out of a crib and fell squarely, shoulders and all, into a Diaper Genie, set below the crib. Feet sticking straight up in the air, and unable to move, with his shoulders squeezed against the edges of the container, the child screamed and cried. Breathing in the remaining air inside the diaper bag, the child cried itself to death. The grandparents who were watching the child discovered the accident too late. Way too late… They, as well as everyone else in their world, were handed an unspeakable tragedy of epic proportion, from which they will likely never recover. After spending four hours at their home, several of which were spent in the bedroom with the dead child, I was given what ALL cops are given following a tragic experience. My next call…
As police officers, there is no time to grieve. No time to heal, absorb, pause, or reflect to allow the mind and body to begin to work again. There is no support system in place for us to manage being human. The public expects us to be assaulted, spit on, shot at, and just keep going.
Reflect on this for a moment. Could you imagine the public reaction if the principal of Columbine High School called his staff together, in the late afternoon, following the horrific tragedy at the school and said, “Ok folks, let’s get these desks turned upright, grab the janitor for the blood stains, let’s get back to work. You still have a couple hours before the bell rings”…
Why then is it ok for us? Does the public actually believe that I still don’t see those tiny, little, blue, rigor mortis filled toes? Sadly, that’s exactly what they believe.
And through it all, we continue moving, never faltering, never giving up, never complaining, and never losing our idealistic hope, that we can somehow make a difference. For if we didn't, who would pull that baby out of the trash, my brother in law? No offense, but probably not…
Several months ago I received a panicked call from my brother in law who had just been involved in a “road rage” incident on his way to work in Boston. He asked me if we could meet. He called me, I’m certain, because he’s my brother in law, but more likely because I’m a police officer. The reason why I was chosen to be an audience for his agitation, fear, anger, and outrage eluded me, but as the dutiful relative, I sat and listened. He began to ramble on like the white noise of a low humming fan, with a lengthy story filled with details, about how traumatic it was for him to have a roll of pennies thrown at him from a “roadway antagonist” during rush hour. As he did so, a slight smile came across my face. “What’s so funny”, he asked. “No, nothing, sorry go ahead” He continued on with blithering effectiveness, relating the story and how difficult of a situation it was for him to have been in such a difficult and trying experience.
I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing!
“What the hell are you laughing at”, he said. “Nothing”, not a thing…
How was I supposed to explain to my brother in law that the experience that “traumatized” him so deeply, causing him to leave work early that day, was a JOKE! An utterly laughable, belly cramping, perfectly scripted comedic event.
Now at this point in the story, it is likely that the average reader is developing their pang of conscious guilt and defensive outrage at such a callous position. After all, “Who could be such a rotten person incapable of supporting the feelings of a relative and their traumatic experience?”
However, as difficult as this is to accept, there are some people out there who are likely reading this story, that are beginning to develop a slight crack in the edges of their lips. Like the emergence of a newborn volcano peaking its head through the surface of the Pacific Ocean, a smile is beginning to form across their faces. Quite possibly, a low muttered chuckle will accompany their smile, confirming their identity as a cop!
What traumatizes most people, shuts them down, and dislodges their sense of safety and well-being, is what Cops call “work”. My brother in law gets some pennies thrown at him by a passing motorist and the world stops. Calls are made to every relative who conveys their “aghast” at what must have been such a “difficult experience” The supporting and loving wife suggests leaving work early since, “you’re going to be of no value to the company anyway dear, with what you are dealing with emotionally”. (Cops chuckle here)…
Rather than demonize the police officers who, like me, are laughing at my brother in law, I would ask that you pause for a second and reflect on what is expected of us as cops. I am not suggesting for a second that my brother in law is cowardly or weak. In fact, he is quite the opposite. I am suggesting he is human. He was faced with an uneasy situation and processed it like all people do. So then if that is the case, let me ask you this… what about us?
I once went on a call to a home where a toddler had managed to fall out of a crib and fell squarely, shoulders and all, into a Diaper Genie, set below the crib. Feet sticking straight up in the air, and unable to move, with his shoulders squeezed against the edges of the container, the child screamed and cried. Breathing in the remaining air inside the diaper bag, the child cried itself to death. The grandparents who were watching the child discovered the accident too late. Way too late… They, as well as everyone else in their world, were handed an unspeakable tragedy of epic proportion, from which they will likely never recover. After spending four hours at their home, several of which were spent in the bedroom with the dead child, I was given what ALL cops are given following a tragic experience. My next call…
As police officers, there is no time to grieve. No time to heal, absorb, pause, or reflect to allow the mind and body to begin to work again. There is no support system in place for us to manage being human. The public expects us to be assaulted, spit on, shot at, and just keep going.
Reflect on this for a moment. Could you imagine the public reaction if the principal of Columbine High School called his staff together, in the late afternoon, following the horrific tragedy at the school and said, “Ok folks, let’s get these desks turned upright, grab the janitor for the blood stains, let’s get back to work. You still have a couple hours before the bell rings”…
Why then is it ok for us? Does the public actually believe that I still don’t see those tiny, little, blue, rigor mortis filled toes? Sadly, that’s exactly what they believe.
And through it all, we continue moving, never faltering, never giving up, never complaining, and never losing our idealistic hope, that we can somehow make a difference. For if we didn't, who would pull that baby out of the trash, my brother in law? No offense, but probably not…