Today I headed to the north shore (northeast of Boston). My productivity in Dorchester was decreasing exponentially and I needed some outdoors/fresh air time. For a few hours (until the clouds rolled in) I sat at a beach in Beverly, reading a book for professional development and soaking up the sunshine in the mid-70s weather.
I was immersed in my reading and listening to my "chill out" playlist on my ipod when I felt the sensation that someone was right behind me. Turning slowly I saw that it was not just someone, but something - a Beverly Police car with a grinning, middle aged policeman was no more than 2 feet behind my chair. After getting over my initial startle and reassuring myself I wasn't doing anything wrong (police in Boston don't really come by to chat), I began what turned out to be an enlightening little conversation.
"Hello." I said, timidly. "Gorgeous day, isn't it?"
"For now," he replied, brusquely, looking off as in to non-existent clouds. "It's raining in Worcester" (Worcester is a good hour and a half from Beverly, but apparently very important to my new police friend).
"Well, I drove up from Dorchester, and it isn't this nice there" (this was my attempt to help him regain the proper perspective and appreciate the weather he had).
"Why were you in Dorchester?" He bluntly asked, almost as if I should feel guilty for having been there.
However, beginning to recognize his short answers and abrupt questions as his way of pleasantry, I replied, "Oh, I live there," in my most pleasant tone.
"Why? It's dangerous."
"Well, parts of it can be but I teach in the city, so I like living there."
My confident and carefree tone was apparently not reassuring to him as he felt the need to clarify. "It's okay teaching there?"
"Oh, yeah. I love teaching there." At this point I inserted my most confident smile, though his concerned facial expressions made me wonder if it was really ok.
"Uh-huh..." His voice dripped with doubt. He then mentioned some crime they'd had at a local alternative school - implying the inherent danger of teenagers, especially ones who aren't like everyone else - wished me a good afternoon, and drove about 20 yards down the beach, where he parked and sat facing away from the water.
Half an hour later he returned, asking if I had seen which direction the lady with the teacup poodle had headed. Apparently, dogs are prohibited on this beach, and belligerent dog owners intentionally ignore his strict enforcement of the rules, earning him a bad reputation with the force.
As we conversed, I searched his uniform for his name, but couldn't find it. Sadly, I will be forced to remember him as my friend, the Beverly cop, even though a name would make this story so much better.
I'm not sure what about this officer stood out to me the most, but I think one of the biggest things was that he seemed so jaded. The weather was gorgeous but wouldn't be for long, the city is dangerous - especially teenagers in the city, the patrons of the beach are out to get him fired, etc.
What would the world be like if we all loved what we did? Were energized by our work? Lovingly engaged our culture, our society, our neighbors?
1 comment:
If I had to guess, based on your description, his name is Ed.
He prefers Edward as it is more distinguished, even royal.
But years of being called "Eddie" (as will happen when one never leaves the small town they grow up in) has beaten him down and deprived him of the confidence due anyone named Edward.
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