What Would Jesus Do? You rarely hear that saying any more? I never really understood it anyway. What would Jesus do? Heck, sometimes Jesus lost his temper and beat people down. Y’ll all know what he did when he caught those people disrespecting the Temple. He beat that ass! Heck, Jesus use to put people in check on the regular. You better recognize! My God don’t play!
Anyway, yesterday/today, however you want to slice it considering the hours I work, was a busy day. People were shooting and cutting people all night. Plain craziness. Hell, it happens so much it’s hard not to get a little callous.
Between the shooting and the cutting, I was driving from my side of town, into the Southside, were I actual grew up; just to break the monotony. As I was going west bound on the freeway, I see this guy walking along the median, with no shirt on--Not to strange--So I get on the radio, tell the dispatcher what I saw and let her know I am going to check it out. I have to exit the freeway and try to get back around to him.
Once I make it back around I see him up ahead so I drive up on the median, so I won’t get rear ended by any of the drunken idiots who might be leaving the clubs. It is around three or so in the morning, just so you know. As my squad car pulls up the guys eyes widen, not unlike the proverbial deer in the headlights and I can tell, even before I get out of my car, that he ain’t right.
I get out of my car and ask him what he is doing walking along the freeway, in the middle of the night. He tells me he is coming from the projects, which are quite a distance from where we are at (No, he doesn‘t say the Projects). I ask him where he is headed? He tells me he headed home. I ask him where home is and he tell me. Home is miles away still from where we are at. I know the street where he says he lives and decide to give him a ride, but before I do so I have to pat him down for weapons. Officer safety first.
Me: You got any weapons on you?
Me: Okay, well put your hands on your head, so I can pat you down to make sure?
Me: Because I need to make sure.
He puts his hands on his head and I commence with a quick little terry frisk, which is the pat down of other clothing for weapons. This seems to irk him and he says: “I told you I don’t got no weapons.”
Me: Okay, sir, but I got to make sure. Okay? (His attitude automatically invokes my attitude.)
At this point, he grumbles like a five year old, like I am putting him out because I have to pat his pockets for weapons.
Me: (Standing up straight and looking him dead in the eyes). Look, do I know you?
Him: I told you my name. (He didn’t, because I didn’t ask him what his name is, but like I said, you can tell he is a little slow, special, not quite right. It actually would have been funny, if we hadn‘t been on the freeway, in the middle of the night, with our asses to traffic).
Me: No ( I say this in a stern voice, trying not to be too mean, but being mean nonetheless). No, I mean to I know you? Have we met before? (He doesn’t get it so I move on). No, I don’t know you and since I don’t know you I have to make sure you don’t have any weapons before I put you in my car. Now, I am trying to be nice and give you a ride home, but if you give me attitude I’ll just take you to jail (totally talking out of my ass here). So, what’s it gonna be? Do you want to go to jail or do you want me to take you home?
Him: Home. (I wish y’ll could have seen the puppy dog look in the man’s eyes. I mean, he had to be in his late twenties, but his expression was that of my little nephew’s. Why do you have to be slow to maintain the innocence of youth?)
So, I put him in the back of my squad car and inform the dispatcher that I will be taking one home. As I am putting him in the back of the squad car he lets me know that police officers make him nervous. I let him know that big men, walking on the freeway with out their shirts on, in the middle of the night makes me nervous too. While we drive, I can hear him humming in the back seat. Then he ask me if I like football? I tell him yeah, which is a totally lie, and then ask him which is his favorite team. He says, “America’s team. The Dallas Cowboys!” and is quite again.
When we turn on his street he informs me that I am not like other police officers. When I ask him what he means by that he tells me that any other police officer would have let him keep walking on the freeway. I tell him that I couldn’t have him getting hit by some drunk driver and our conversation is over. I drop him off at his house and wait for him to go inside. His mom must have been up waiting up for him, because she opens the door immediately. I wave at her. She waves back and I leave.
I’m not sure if this is what Jesus would do, but it was the only title I could come up with. Right after that, two more people cut two more people, on two different occurrences.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.