One officer who was injured in the line of duty was assigned to my unit.  Highly intelligent. honest, hardworking, he had a tough time on the force.  He endured terrorist jokes from his colleagues.  He was singled out for retaliation.  When he finally resigned, he was both relieved and bitter.  I remember him on his last day.  Couldn’t wait to leave.

I’ve had to repeatedly tell him over the years that he was the best of the NYPD.  That he lived up to his shield, his uniform, and all that they represent.  Forget the others, no one will remember their names.  He appreciates that although still justifiably angry.

I’ve had two shields – one I had to return (appropriate number, one short of the devil – 667) and one I kept.  That one represents a lot – not only the official work, but the many years sleeping on a mattress on the floor, the thousands of miles driven, the hundreds of job rejection letters, living in not-awesome places, thinking of the girl I lit the candles for to get through, etc.  It goes to the daughter.  I also have a cap with NYPD command pins, a merit citation, and other pins representing what I actually did at work.  It goes to the son.