Learning to deal with my daughter’s job as a police officer

“I’LL GET my own patrol car on Monday,” my daughter told me. I struggled to keep breathing as I heard her excited voice. I was shocked to rea lise t hat my beautiful girl would be putting herself at risk on the streets of Oklahoma. That night, I found it impossible to sleep.

As a single woman and Hollywood TV producer, I adopted my daughter when she was an infant. I met her birth mother only once, in the hospital on the days he was born. Arriving three weeks early, my baby was feisty from the beginning. We were an odd couple. I was a Jewish blue- eyed redhead. She was my ravenhaired Hispanic companion. She travel led on location with me, going to school wherever I was shooting. In White horse, Yukon Territory, she was in kindergarten with the local Inuit children and had play date sat their homes while we lived in a hotel.

She was raised in my glamorous world, even acting in some of my films. Many of my films dealt with social issues, and I raised her to be aware of the importance of strong women. She went to demonstrations for equal rights ina stroller and marched in Washington when she was a teenager. We vacationed in London. I took her to British museums, Los Angeles concerts and Broadway plays. She fell in love with the movie “Singing in the Rain” and knew every word of Gene Kelly’s songs. She sang with the Young People’s Chorus of New York and played hockey as a goalie in high school.

But she always struggled to find her place.

Dyslexia kept getting in the way of her brilliance asa kid, frustrating us both. She battled it through high school and college. As her sole parent, I had difficult conversations with myself about the decisions I made. After special tutoring and supportive lessons that she rebelled against, she finally worked out her own techniques.

While wanting her to be worldly and educated, I realised I had to let go of my fantasies for her. I had grown upon the prairies of Canada, where drama TV series and theatre were my pass ions. I dreamed of my daughter working in the creative world and pushed her in that direction. I didn’ t re ali se that nature was at work, too.

She finally admitted that she didn’ t want tobe in show business. Like many parents, I had to understand that my daughter would not necessarily excel in college or choose my profession. My job was to let her be who she was.

After high school, she experimented in film animation, took classes in baking and art. Then while working as a volunteer paramedic, she discovered her special talent. Helping people gave her a wonderful feeling, especially saving someone’s life. She worked closely with the police and saw that they were very involved with the community. When she enrolled in Police Foundation at college, I was pleased that she sounded so enthusiastic. At her invitation, I attended the first day of orientation with her and listened to her police officer teachers. I was nervous about her future. This wasn’t the glamorous J.Lo TV cop, aiming and firing her gun at a dramatic shootout. Now I had to accept the idea that she would be patrolling the crime-ridden streets of a city.

Two years later, she graduated with high honour sand selfconfidence. I was sitting in the balcony of the theatre looking down at her. She faced me, holding her hands in the shape of a heart and then walked on stage with her shoulders back and her head high, receiving her diploma like a trophy.

During training, she meta young man in the Air Force and wanted to live with him to test their long distance relationship. I nervous ly agreed she should try it, telling her she’ d know after a year. I wondered how she would find a job with a police department in Oklahoma, where he lived, only to discover that my little girl had applied to an even smaller police force to start. Her recruiting officer wanted her and fought to hire her, even going to City Hall to redo the budget and find the money to t rain her and send her to the Police Academy.

I drove to the remote town for her academy graduation, and watched as she marched proudly in the colorr guard, a rifle slung over her shoulder, the flag held upright. The training was brutal, she’d said, yet she’ d excel led. Surrounded by the other officers, it was obvious that she’ d found her place. I was proud that she had become strong.

A woman who’ d always voted for pro-gun control candidates, I now had a daughter carrying a Glock. When I saw a headline in the morning news, with police officers being gun ned down, I felt compassion. Protecting a community washer calling. The other day when she called to check in, our conversation was cut short .“Mom, I gotta go. There’s a gunshot.”

She recently called me and said ,“Mom, sometimes I feel guilty that I’ ve chosen such a dangerous job. I’ m your only child. How do you feel?”

I explain that I know her job is dangerous, and yes, I’m nervous. But I’ ve learned I can put my fears aside in away so I can be supportive. And now when she calls me after work, and I hear the crackling background noise of her police radio, I remind myself that she’ s safe today and I can sleep tonight.—WP Bloomberg