Read Between The Lines

Truthfully, I get annoyed more than anything else when this time of year rolls around. I get annoyed at the memorials, I get annoyed at the T.V. specials. The whole scene just puts me off. Don't ask me to explain why that is to you. At least not in a blog post. No matter how Kris and I try to shelter ourselves from the endless stream of new documentaries each year, no matter how selectively we read our normal website haunts, hoping to avoid the mental landmines, there really is no way around it. My reason for finding this outlet each year to visit the thoughts I otherwise try to stave off, is to ensure my boys will someday have a way to make it a bit more personal. Hopefully, in doing so, some sense can be made of the mess for them.

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The wisest people I know are those who possess the ability to change. Change, to function in the midst of dynamic surroundings. Change to better themselves. Change for the betterment of others. True change requires an adjusted way of thinking. Merely adapting new behaviors or habits is not always an indication that real change or progress is being made. Perhaps the ideal form of change is when a person makes necessary adjustments, while not forgetting where they come from. In so doing, the benefit of life experience and wisdom is brought to bear in new circumstances. It is this sort of ability that Kris has. Its really no surprise that Kris was met with success as a police officer. It also has been no surprise that she has risen to the challenges of being a "stay at home" mom.

I'd like my boys to know that their mother made poignant choices, and followed through with changes to make our present day life a reality. I'd also like them to know she brings with her all the wisdom, from what seems like a different life, into her decisions at home everyday.

Evan, on any given Saturday morning, your mom may place you across her chest in a sling as we wander through the market. A few years ago it was a bullet resistant vest across her chest. Take this to mean she understands where danger waits, and she can protect you. Aiden, when your mother provides you with advice, please understand she has given guidance to others during the darkest hours in their lives. She has wisdom to impart to you. Boys, understand that when your mom runs in the park with you, she has also run into pure danger to save lives. You cannot outrun her obsession to care for you.
Read between the lines, boys.

In our attic is a box with among other things, Kris' memo books.  These are a legal record of her time in service as a police officer. Every observation, every assignment and post, every arrest she effected is documented.

Click image to enlarge

The images below are pages from September 11th, 2001. Unless you have experience in the military, police, or other first responder capacity, these pages don't reveal anything remarkable.

However, if you read between the lines, you will see an officer desperate and determined to reach a smoldering pile of rubble that was to burn for weeks. You will see an endless amount of effort to ensure friends and strangers alike were provided the dignity of a decent funeral. If you read between the lines you see keen powers of observation, strength and determination. They reveal everything you might not guess about Kris. Perhaps, that was why she was so sucessfull in her roles as a cop..... bad guys never saw her coming.

(Click to enlarge)

Similar posts on this subject can be found here.

3rd and 20th

Last year, when I wrote about this subject, Kris left two comments that stayed with me all year. You can view them at last year's post, here. A portion of my memories from 2001 are directly associated with Kris, and how that day affected her and made her feel. At her request, (from the comments noted above) I'm going to tell this story.

Stories like these must be told. They must be told so others, so my son, can find inspiration in the actions of great people. People who accomplish amazing things in the face of the impossible.

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As New York City intersections go, this one is quite ordinary. It boasts a mix of small neighborhood shops, and also bears the imprint of million dollar businesses. Like every other set of corners in the city, it is never vacant or quiet. The weather was pristine. Bright sunshine, a perfect breeze and blue skies provided the backdrop for this fairytale city scene. My vantage point was parked, facing north on Third Ave. A favorite pastime of mine, I was sitting in the car, windows down, soaking in the cityscape while listening to Imus.

Just out of view of this photo, more off to the right, (east) the largest police department in the country hides its training facility. On this day, I was waiting for Kris to exit that building, round the corner, and walk back to me with good news. She was not yet a police officer. Today she was taking the physical agility test that would grant her access to the police academy. She was essentially taking a test that would allow her the privilege of having the life beaten out of her for 8 months. If she passed this test, and survived the academy, she would earn the title "New York's Finest."

The exams today would include a "trigger pull test." This consists of firing 30 rounds, 15 from each hand, without allowing the gun to move inside a 6 inch circular ring. The weapons that are issued to police in NYC are modified from the manufacturer. In most cases, these guns require about 3lbs of pressure to pull the trigger and fire a round. In rare cases, they are modified and require 8lbs of pressure. In the N.Y.P.D., the weapon is taken a step further and requires an unheard of 12.5 lbs of pressure to fire a shot. Kris had attempted this testing before. The small size of her hands was not a good match for this test and the uniquely modified pistol. She was unable to make a passing grade. Not easily scared away, Kris worked out her forearm muscles and did lots of wrists curls. She even spent time practicing with an old-school heavy revolver. She had every intention of being ready for this next round of entrance tests.

I had moved from the driver's seat to the passenger's seat in the front of my car. This would put me closer to the sidewalk, and give me a better vantage point once she turned the corner. Being parked at least half a block away, put me in a difficult spot. Plus, Kris isn't the tallest person you'll ever meet. It would take steady concentration and timing to see between the thick crowds and catch her eye before she caught mine. I wasn't sure how I should handle the moment we found each other. Do I wait in the car until she notices me? Maybe I get out and walk in her direction. I could also get out of the car and wait there for her to come to me.

In an instant, hours of contemplation went by the wayside. Through a typical NYC crowd, I saw something unmistakable. Kris had taken the corner at the quick step. She moved so briskly, the one side of her body seemed to lift off the ground as she made the last move of the corner pivot. I got out, closed the door and stood still. Almost asking with my eyes, "YES?!" She picked up my stare. Stopping dead in her tracks, her head nodded in agreement and smiled HUGE.

From there it was a mutual sprint through waves of people. The look of complete joy on her face seemed to part the Red Sea between us. We celebrated in the middle of hundreds of people.

Less then four months after finishing the academy (in the top five percent of her class) on a September day with equally perfect weather and blue skies, we held each other again. And again, Kris sprinted. This time, into the fray.

(The corner @ 3rd and 20th)

To Build Or Not To Build

As a general rule, I try to stay away from offering commentary on mainstream, current events topics. However, a person for whom I have immense respect wanted to discuss this particular matter with me today and therefore I am thinking it through, in part, here.

It seems as though a Muslim group plans on building a community center, including a Mosque, about two blocks away from the World Trade Center site in NYC. Earlier today, my friend simply asked me how I feel about that. My answer..... I'm OK with it.

Many in society (entitled to their opinions) place the blame for the 9/11 attacks at the foot of the Muslim/Islamic religion. Those who think along these lines also seem to feel that based on the nationality of the parties responsible for the attacks, and perhaps their "religious" beliefs as well, they should find another place for this building.

My opinion is that in any walk of life, any occupation, any religion, there are selfish people who choose to go to vast extremes to make a point or leverage a threat. I believe that God, my God anyway, is a wonderfully simple being. I believe He welcomes all, no questions asked, especially the freaks among us! I don't believe he cares where these people put their building.

I'm somewhat hesitant to make this next statement, but here goes anyway.

Police Officers, Firefighters and E.M.S. personnel, at least all the ones I know, would rush just as quickly into a Mosque as they would any other building if it meant saving lives. I think we should be careful when invoking the names or the memory of any such fallen hero when speaking out against a project like this one.

For a few other thoughts on related subject matters, click here or here.

It Happens Every Year

Every year, I tell myself it doesn't really bother me.
Then, as I do every other day, I check the local NYC news websites.
There they are. The pictures and words that changed our country and my home forever.
Anyone who has spent any time with Kris and I, more often just me, knows that I love to force "cop stories" out of Kris. Sometimes she'll oblige. I guess I force them out of her for two reasons.
First, they are are really freakin' cool. Second, they demonstrate the mettle that is Kris. A truly remarkable person. It takes stories like she has lived as a police officer, to make her remarkable qualities tangible to someone who otherwise doesn't know her as well as I do.
Among everything else that September 11th means to the world, I remember it as making my wife sad.
The early morning found Kris and I at home. Kris had been scheduled to work at her Precinct.
The 9th, also known as the "Fighting shithouse", less than 3 miles from the World Trade Center. The night before, another officer she worked with needed to switch things up. This resulted in her being at home around 9am.
We both were in the bedroom when it happened. We hugged each other intensely for a good amount of time.
Kris then went to the closet, got out as many bags as she could carry, and started packing.
I had shared my embrace with her because I was glad she was home and alive. There was something else in her embrace of me. Tears poured down her face as she slammed and threw clothing, ammo, and riot gear into her bags. All at once, she cried and screamed "That building was full of cops!"
I'll never forget it.
Tonight, as this came back into my mind, I went in search of a "buried treasure".
Kris put together a photo album detailing a few (as if they all weren't) of the larger than life events that spanned her time on the job. Included are letters Kris exchanged with students and reporters from across the country. Seen here are various newspaper headlines stemming from high profile cases Kris was a part of.
I've done my best to make them viewable in this format. (Click for larger view)

Hey Aiden, when the capital of the world was hurting, they called your Mom and her friends to save it.

Just Out For A Stroll

If I close my eyes, I can still smell the streets of New York City. Now, it isn't what you're thinking...well, maybe a little bit...but seriously...I can still remember the smell of spring in Battery Park and the hotdog cart on the corner of almost every street. Oddly enough, the occasional campground smell of a fire and some barbeque wafted through the air...mixing in with the unmistakable aroma of ethnic diversity. Sure there's the garbage smell and the odor of urine...but that is just part of the charm and experience of a New York visit and I loved every minute of it! My partners in crime included Kris and Shamus, Rita, Luci and my husband, Eric!
This past weekend I saw a bit of NYC that escapes the majority of tourists and we SUCCESSFULLY crammed several days of sightseeing in a two day window thanks to "The Itinerary" and the navigation skills of Kris and Shamus. We experienced the show "Wicked" (phenomenal!!) , toured the Intrepid, watched monkeys comb each other for bugs and turtles mate at the Central park Zoo, ate some INCREDIBLE food...I'm talking mutant shrimp and onion rings you'd offer up your firstborn for...did I mention the blissful surrender they called "Filet Mignon" and "New York Strip"...or how about the nine foot tall hot fudge sundae! I digress....talk of food always does that to me. We even had time to catch a Burlesque show in a seriously unique club called "The Slipper Room"....for me, endearingly reminiscent of a bawdy vaudeville act. It was awesome to be a part of that.
Our visit to Ellis Island and Trinity church left such an imprint on my soul, that the aura of those places still linger with me. I can't begin to convey how it felt to share the same space with ghosts of a time most people forget. At Ellis island, I stood looking up at the ceiling of the reception hall where thousands of people from all over the world waited to be processed into this country. I walked the halls where countless people were told they were being deported back to their mother country because of illness or inability to work making them a public case.....but that their wives and/or children could stay. Families finally reunited after years of separation, a new beginning or the freedom to practice their religion without fear of persecution. Such sacrifice...such heartache and joy under one roof.
Trinity church was like a pause,...a reason to sigh in the middle of the busiest city in the world. It was as if time stopped for me as I crossed that threshold. I learned that Kris called the church home for a bit following 9/11 along with many firefighters, police officers and rescue volunteers...and the overwhelming feeling of peace made sense to me. We walked the church grounds, viewing various tombstones and reading inscriptions of many a beloved person. Being here with my husband and friends I care deeply for....I almost forgot I was in the middle of this raging city....the bustling noise of productivity quieted...and I realized that New York City went way beyond its reputation. It isn't just a city you take the local bus tour to...hitting all the hot shopping spots so you can acquire the hottest new Christmas gift. It's a HUGE part of American history, it can attest to survival and of overcoming defeat in the face of insurmountable obstacles, it welcomes you in to the melting pot of it's diversity. New York City is someone's neighborhood...a place to call home, point out where they went to school, or kissed their first love.
We shuffled onto the Staten island ferry early saturday evening, filled up with food ( my husband wants me to mention the shrimp again- I told him "no, it's time for the pastries' spotlight"), friendship and that little sad feeling you get when you know your special vacation moment has come to an end, leaving an imprint behind. I love riding the ferry watching the city rise up in front of you...trying not to stare and failing miserably....I love the subway, and that panicky feeling I get that Luci's metro card won't admit her ( but it does) ...I love ( oh, how I love) the food and trying to make a decision on which dessert I'm going to have. Most of all, I love being in the company of friends and having the time to talk with them.
Before I knew it, monday morning was upon me....and I discovered that I missed the noise.

NYC 2009 from shamus smith on Vimeo.