“Daddy, can you put a ribbon in my hair?”
A simple request made by my then four-year-old daughter. Little did she know that this particular request would be one of the most traumatic and emotionally draining of my life. The reason: Exactly three months to that day I was shot twice, critically injured and confined to a wheel chair, and I couldn’t fulfill that simple request from my precious daughter.
November 30, 1995, events changed not only my life but that of my entire family. On that day I was doing some personal banking with my mother when my worst fear was realized. While standing in the teller line an armed individual decided he was going to rob the bank, and I was unarmed.
During the robbery, he attempted to kill a bank teller who was too frightened to get the money from the drawer. I intervened and suffered two gunshot wounds and serious injuries to my body. (My mother was critically wounded in the abdomen but survived.)
Those injuries left me in a wheelchair for several months with virtually no use of my left hand. I was deeply depressed. If someone had asked me what the biggest turning point in my life had been, I'd have said, “Getting shot.” But that wouldn't have been true. The real turning point was that request made by my daughter, three months later.
I tried for more than five minutes to tie that damn ribbon, but I couldn’t do it. I tried and tried for what seemed like an eternity. “It’s a simple task,” I said to myself, but I just couldn’t get it done.
Finally, frustrated and angry I started crying, and I told her to have her grandmother do it. As she was leaving she turned towards me, looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes and said, “Why are you crying Daddy?”
I didn’t know how to answer her. Sensing that I was upset for failing the simplest of tasks, she said with the wide eyed honesty only a child could have: “Don’t worry Daddy. I’ll take care of you,” and off she went to grandma.
I wept. I was in the prime of my life the day I was shot. My identity was being a police officer. It was all I ever wanted to be, and this crack addict felon took that away from me. He shattered the flawed belief that I was invincible. So I sat in my chair and cried. I was angry, depressed and feeling sorry for myself because I couldn’t be who I was. Because I couldn’t recover my identity. Because I could no longer be a cop.
Until …
“Daddy can you put a ribbon in my hair?”
WHAM! That question now hit my like a ton of bricks. I kept hearing it over and over in my head. And the more it echoed the angrier I became. But the rage wasn’t because I couldn’t be a cop, it was because I could no longer be a father. That’s when I realized something. My motivation to get better was lacking because my true identity wasn’t police work, it was being a father and a husband. This degenerate armed robber and would-be murderer wasn’t going to win this! He’s not taking me away from my family! My daughter needed me now and for years to come and I’m gonna damn-well be there for her and everyone else I love. I finally found true motivation.
Until that point I was not serious about doing physical therapy. I was only going through the motions. My daughters question changed all that too. I worked relentlessly on mind and body. If I got well enough to be a cop again so be it, but my real motivation was to be there for my family.
I worked harder than I ever did in my life because that question was always on my mind and my daughter’s face drove me. A year and several surgeries later, I returned to the police department as a patrolman: full-duty.
Currently, I’m working as a parole officer and am assigned to the fugitive unit. I will never be able to sufficiently thank my colleagues, doctors, friends and family for the support they’ve given me. I learned many lessons that day that I share with officers so that they don’t make the same mistakes I did.
Yes, getting shot November 30, 1995, was a pivotal point in my life. But the turning point was three months later when my daughter asked if I could put a ribbon in her hair. That simple request from an innocent four-year-old gave me perspective, determination and the strength to take control of my life perhaps for the first time. I resumed my career and more importantly became a better father and husband.
Today, Bethany asks if she can have the keys to the car. Time goes by too quickly and I know that I’ll be walking her down the aisle sooner than I desire. On that day I’ll be able to put the ribbons in her hair.
I love you Bethany. You saved my life.