“Thanks for coming to see me, kid.”
“Of course, of course. I said I
wanted to come.”
“It's just that sometimes I get the
feeling that even my own family doesn't want anything to do with me.”
“I don't know about that. They're
just really busy. They haven't told me a lot about you, though, so I
was curious.”
“I'm glad you were. What do you want
to know?
“A lot. A lot. But let's start with
this: what was your life like when you were my age?”
“Well, I wasn't Al Capone, or Al
Bundy, or even Al Haynesworth, but I got my name in the police
reports a couple of times. Disturbing the peace, drunk driving,
drunk and disorderly, disorderly conduct...the fourteen-year-old
version of me had kind of a thing for disorder. Plus petty theft and
of course fighting.
Anyway, the whole situation came to a
head when my parole officer bailed me out of jail. He sat me down
and said 'You can't keep doing this for the rest of your life. You
gotta buckle down and become a contributing member of society. From
now on, you come down to the station to see me every day. I don't
wanna ever see you in this place again, unless it's to bail somebody
else out.' That day really changed me.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Sure. Before that, I had been
ashamed of my childhood ambition to be a cop. After that day, I
laughed about it.”
“Well, it looks like visiting hours
are almost over. I better get back. Maybe I'll come out and see you
again next month, gramps.”
“Thanks, kid.”
