Give it Arrest

It’s 6:10 in the morning. I’ve just returned from the gym and am making my eggs. From the living room comes the gravely voice of my zombie boy as he’s watching TV.

“Do you know what the California penal code is for brandishing a firearm?

“No.”

“417. You should really spend time learning those.”

I continue to stir my eggs realizing that there’s nothing further needed from me in this “conversation.”

I do not need to know the penal code for brandishing a weapon. I need to keep brain memory space free for other things like “where are my keys?” Or Welfare and Institutions code 361.5 (b) (13). (Am I right! #SWNerd)

But also, I don’t want to be a cop.

Dirty, on the other hand, has taken serious efforts in hopes to become one. I want to say that it came out of the blue. It’s not like we know cops. He didn’t have friends doing it since they were mostly doing the things that normal 18 year old do, such as not trying to get a job at the jail. It’s far too early to know if this will be a real career for him; but, when I look back on his formative years it kinda makes sense. He thrives in structure and discipline. At 10 he beat out teenagers in young marine boot camp for the honor of the Private First Class award. He’s physical. He gets every where early. He’s an incredibly hard worker. He’s smart. He’s a critical thinker. He looks great in aviator glasses (bwah ha). Essentially, he checks a lot of the boxes.

His cop dreams simultaneously makes me very proud and very scared.

I can see the serious work he’s put in to chasing this goal. My heart swells that he wants to serve his community and be a protector. But, I don’t know if you know;… cops have a dangerous job. And, not everyone likes them. It activates my mom mode.

I wish to protect him from all the potential pitfalls in his future. Some people are going to love him just because he’s in a uniform. Some people will hate him for the same non-specific reason. Then there’s the whole “they’re going to give him a gun…!” worry.

I’m fortunate to work with some cops in my job. It’s given me the opportunity to have the utmost respect for what they do. It’s also helped me know that they are also human. As with any large group of humans, you’ll have some good and some really really bad. I don’t want for any good human/cop to have to be considered bad based on bad actions of an individual. But as I’m learning, young Dirty’s world doesn’t bend to my will.

He’s been at the jail for a year and some change. I firmly believe he’s seen more shit (metaphorically and literally) in that time than I’ve seen in my 50 years. And I can’t protect him from it. His little brain is still cooking in a situation where some disturbing core memories are formed. All I can do is knit my brow in my concerned face and ask if he’s okay. He seems to handle the things better than I handle the hearing of the things. And because of such, he’s maybe well suited for his chosen career. Or maybe he’ll learn that he’d rather go back to Cal Poly wine making school. Only time will tell.

The TV is still on, and somehow the zombie is still awake.

“You know what he’s going be charged with, Crystal?”

Again, “No.”

“California Penal Code 2800. What’s the California Penal Code for assault?”

“I don’t know.”

He sounds disappointed as he says, “I already told you that one last night.”

Obviously he’s excited, and we’re excited for him. As wise man says, he’ll spend his days hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. As his mom, I hope that he finds his purpose and flourishes despite the burdens ahead. I also hope that he has to drive the Dash car around downtown because humility is important too.

Thanks for reading!