frustration anger

That Look.

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That Look.

It happened again last night. A little boy, well behaved and brave, shed only a single tear as he kissed his father in handcuffs good bye…it’ll be years before he gets out. I had to turn away because my eyes were misty. I’d be devastated if I was in his shoes. The pain I feel for the child is crushing. I’m supposed to serve and protect. But I can’t, not this time. I can’t scoop up the little guy and take him home. He’s not a puppy, he’s an innocent child, born into the wrong situation, and now, after it’s all said and done, he’s ushered off with his backpack and very few belongings to a relative’s house. He won’t have a father figure in his life, and it’s gonna take a miracle for him not to end up like the man in handcuffs. His formidable years will be wasted. You can’t raise a child through jail visits and letters. When the little boy turned and looked at me, asking me with his eyes why I was doing what I was doing, I had to turn away again. It’s that look that makes me question why I continue. I let down a three year old child tonight, and it hurts. Try dealing with this guilt. Try putting on a badge and see what it’s really all about. It will haunt you.