I am asked to be a peacekeeper among street gang wars, a buffer between frightened victims and ruthless criminals and a social worker for families chronically in crises. Often enough I will be spit at, insulted in the worst profane manner and at times my life will be threatened. I can feel some comfort knowing that this is not personal, just the uniform I so proudly wear. When people see me they only see the uniform, while my face remains oblique and obscure. They don t see the person inside the uniform.
Cops are just numbers, interchangeable parts.
I will not receive any recognition, since all the hazards and difficult work are simply expected of me. I start to envy that man with the spatula. From the time you put on the police uniform and step out into the streets an erosion process begins to take place. The environment, as well as the same people I police are in fact eroding me. In the wake of senseless crime and the constant confrontation with insanity, I am thrust deeper into the dark side of American society.