Most individuals like eating with their kids. Although dining out is fun, we should be conscious of our surroundings sometimes.
A police officer eating with his daughter at a restaurant discovered this. She even wore his hat around the restaurant as they were having fun.
A photographer was in the background, but everyone seemed OK. The worst exaggeration was when one photograph went viral.
We planned a fast lunch. I brought up my daughter Zariah from daycare after a hard workday in my uniform. She requested to wear my old patrol headgear and the police officer uniform we bought her since she loves anything I wore at five.
We simply got her favorite shake and chicken fries from Burger King. She walked like the restaurant’s sheriff. An elderly couple smiled, and a youngster called her “officer” while holding the door open.
Little thinking went into it. Again, she sat next to me in the booth and asked about my work. When I told her about my partner’s dumb cruiser siren mistake that morning, she laughed so loudly that half the restaurant turned around.
This woman in her mid-30s stood near the soda machine with her phone positioned so I could tell she was recording. She focused on Zariah in the hat, I observed. Then me. I believed she was curious.
I didn’t think about it until a coworker emailed me a Twitter screenshot the next morning. With the caption, “Why are officers letting children pretend to be police in public?” Clearly, it was us. Messed up. Likes in the thousands. Others have talked trauma, called me unprofessional, and labeled my department.
I had a noon Internal Affairs appointment.
I tried to explain that my kid was acting like a youngster. I was often asked whether I “understood how this might be misinterpreted” and about “public perception.”
Next week, they’d inform me of their decision.
I now got another message.
Not from work.
A North Carolina university professor of public perception and media ethics, Dr. Amari Toussaint, sent it. She said the viral article gave her ideas. To be honest, I almost ignored it. However, her message was expressed differently.
I think what happened to you and your kid shows how internet fury sometimes lacks context, the contributor stated. I would love to talk if you’re available.
I replied, thinking I had nothing to lose.
We chatted for over an hour. No one at work questioned her how Zariah felt when she played pretend, what role modeling meant to her, or how I became a father and police officer in the current atmosphere. He appeared more interested in understanding than lecturing.
She posted our talk online two days later (with my permission). Using extracts from our talk and a photo of Zariah’s “uniform,” she explained how dressing up helps kids connect with parents and cope with challenging emotions.
Even more people liked that post.
The tide turned this time.
Comments like “I judged too quickly” appeared. Now it makes sense. Others told stories of youngsters mimicking their parents as physicians, firefighters, or sanitation workers because they adored them. Another parent commented, “If this was a problem, I guess I should be fired too,” after posting a photo of their youngster with a toy stethoscope in a hospital lobby.
It hit local news.
Not negatively. A brief story called “When Pretend Meets Real Life: The Dad Behind the Viral Photo” aired. Zariah, dressed alike, stole the show when she informed the reporter, “I want to be just like my daddy, but I’ll let the bad guys go if they say sorry.” She and I were interviewed.
The department’s choice still worried me, but the following IA meeting changed my mind.
Abandoned inquiry.
Apparently, sensible department employees and public pressure helped. “Just be careful where you wear the badge—even the toy ones,” my commander cautioned.
Alright. Learning my lesson.
The true twist came when Dr. Toussaint invited me to appear on a parenting in uniform panel a few weeks later. Even though it was mostly virtual, I came prepared for off-duty, with Zariah wearing a glittering headband and my old patrol cap in her lap.
An audience instructor said, “Kids see the world through stories.” No matter your uniform, seeing parents follow morality is powerful.
That struck me.
I never planned for Zariah to succeed me. The job is hard. Your patience wanes. Maybe she was attempting to figure it out, now that I think about it. She may have longed to momentarily walk in my shoes, even if only briefly.
Perhaps that would teach us both.
Don’t let a stranger’s snapshot define you. Who will listen, inquire, and try to comprehend while everyone talks? These voices should be preserved.
