The Academy

So the yard sale was mildly successful, even though we still own a set of 1950s Do-It-Yourself books and a couple of miniature homies. But I have bigger news. Next week I’m headed down to the police station, and it looks like I’ll be there four hours every Thursday night for the next eleven weeks.

No, no, no. This has nothing to do with my speeding tickets. Actually, I’ve just been accepted into the police academy! That is, the citizen’s police academy.

Oh, how I fondly recall picking up the 3-page application a few weeks back, still riding a breezy summer high, one steeped in dreams and possibilities. My fall teaching schedule would be packed, I told myself, but when opportunity knocks, you don’t hesitate. Your community NEEDS you. When asked to list two references on the application, I penned in Casey’s name, and then my Mom’s. I promptly called my Mom to warn her that the P.D. might be ringing her on my behalf. Oddly, she has a tendency to freak out about those kinds of things.

I deposited my completed application at the precinct, and surveyed the building, an above-ground underworld ablaze with motion. Detectives in plain clothes walked purposefully forward with tell-tale revolvers strapped to their hips. Doors were held open for me, which I saw as nothing less than a sign.

I had visions, dreams, both as big and bold as Paul Bunyan. Of myself at a mock DUI test, drinking margaritas while walking the white line with my classmates. My gooey, chocolately fingers contaminating a crime scene. A shared laugh with the Sergeant at a coffee shop after a K-9 training session.

But there are fears as well, and they follow me into my sleep. Will I be the only person in the history of this town to get kicked out of the citizen’s police academy? What would be left to blog? I'll keep you posted.