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Candies and cakes,

And eggnog too.

Turkey, ham, and stuffing.

Pumpkin pie,

For me and for you.

 

Family and friends,

And fireplace crackles.

Cedar logs sizzle.

Family dog,

Sleeping at the hearth.

 

Cookies and milk.

And laughter and squeals.

Stockings and gifts.

Silent wishes,

Happy, hopeful dreams.

 

Home.

Wish I was there.

 

Pepper spray and handcuffs,

And puking, smelly drunks.

Radios and TASERS.

Spouses battered and bruised,

Black eyes and broken bones.

 

Tiny tots and tears,

And drug dealers and robbers.

Sad pitiful kids.

No toys,

No place to sleep.

 

Crack pipes burning,

And no food, no heat.

Gunshots and stabbings.

Car crashes and suicides,

Ambulances, hospitals, and morgues.

 

Crying, bleeding, and dying.

 

Home.

Glad I have one.

Aren’t you?

An Iowa woman was arrested yesterday after leaving her three small children—ages five, three, and one—at home alone around 10 P.M. The woman, Natalee Kahl, 23, told police that she’d left her kids at the apartment while she traveled to a friend’s house get her boyfriend. In the meantime, one of the children called 911 to report that she needed help figuring out how to watch videos online.

Upon arrival and in addition to finding three young children in need of services, officers also discovered a glass pipe in plain view, a device used for smoking marijuana. It contained burnt residue and was easily accessible to the children.

If the name Natalee Kahl rings a bell, it’s most likely because you read about her back in 2015 when her daughter, an infant at the time, was hospitalized with a blood alcohol content of .284, nearly four times the legal limit for a full grown adult. Kahl poured two ounces of vodka into the child’s bottle, claiming she thought it was water.

Calls like these, where small children are left to fend for themselves, often during brutal, cold winter months, without heat and other basic needs, are some of the most “gut-punch” situations officers deal with on a regular basis.

Seeing those small shivering bodies, quivering and trembling lips, and the intense hurt in their weak, sad eyes is enough to make even the toughest cop crumble. People in need—kids, the homeless, the elderly, the lonely—especially during this time of the year, deserve compassion, and help. Many times the much-needed assistance comes by way of the men and women who wear uniforms and badges, and these acts most often go unnoticed, unpublished, and unmentioned.

I guess it takes the act of wearing one of those badges to understand, actually. And I suppose not ever experiencing the “other side” of life sort of dulls the senses of people who’re fortunate enough to not need help to survive. But cops, yeah, they see it all. They know, and they understand. And they help.

Just as we did for a little boy named Jimmy Lee Bailey.

Christmas For Jimmy Lee Bailey: A Child in Need

The call—a child in need of services.

What I found was a child in need of love.

His house, held together by random lengths of mismatched clapboard-siding, sat at the end of a hard-packed red clay path. Shreds of tar-paper and rusted tin covered some, but not all, of a rain-blackened plywood roof. Four white, spray-painted cinder-blocks served as a front stoop.

The front door had no knob or lock. Just a curved metal handle, worn slick from years of pulling and pushing. A brick propped against its bottom held the door closed. Someone, I’m not sure who, “locked it” when they left.

I knocked.

“Come in,” a little voice said.

It was just days before Christmas and there was no tree.

No presents.

There was no food.

No running water.

No cabinets. No stove.

No refrigerator. No beds.

No drywall. No insulation.

Just bare studs and rafters.

And cold. Lots of cold.

A small dented and soot-caked kerosene heater fought a losing battle against a brutal December evening. Two milk jugs used for holding fuel sat near the splintered front door. Both empty. The heater’s gauge rested at one notch above E. The weak orange flame would soon fade away. The temperature outside was 20, and dropping. The wind was persistently forcing its way through cracks and holes in the walls, floor, and open spaces around the door and windows.

The place was not much more than a shed. One cobbled together from scrap wood and discarded “whatevers.”

A tattered blanket and two patchwork quilts. Threadbare and slick from wear.

No winter coats. No hats, nor gloves.

Dirty window panes.

One missing, replaced by a square of cardboard.

Dish towel curtains.

A hardware store calendar, two years old.

A cooler with no lid.

Mom, passed out on the floor.

A bottle of bourbon, its contents long gone.

A pipe for crack smoking.

“Mama says daddy will come home … someday.”

A dog. All ribs and backbone.

The floor, bare.

No rugs, no toys. ­

A table.

Two chairs.

A book.

Some paper.

The boy, writing.

Cigarettes.

A saucer for ashes, overflowing with discarded butts.

A deck of ragged playing cards.

Roaches. Scurrying up, down, there and here.

Mouse. Unafraid.

A squalling baby.

The bugs, they’re there, too.

The stench.

A tin lard bucket in the corner.

A checkered cloth on top.

A half-empty roll of Scotts.

The only bathroom indoors.

“You writing a letter?”

A nod.

“To your Dad?”

“No, to Santa.”

“Mind if I have look?”

He held it up for me to see.

“Your handwriting is very nice.”

A smile.

“Dear Santa,

Don’t worry about the bicycle I asked for.

Or the Tonka trucks and new coat.

And I don’t even like video games anymore.

Or DVD’s and toy trains.

I’m too big for those things now.

‘Sides, some men came and took the TV. Said Mama couldn’t pay for it no more. The ‘lectric neither.

What I’d really like is a warm blanket for my brother. He needs some milk too. And some medicine to make his fever go away. And could you help my Mom some? She needs to stop drinking and smoking. I wish you could make those men leave her alone too. They get all lickered up and hit her and do things to her that make her cry. Maybe you could bring my mom a coat for Christmas this year. She don’t have one and she gets cold when she walks down the street to get her cigarettes and that other stuff she smokes.

And if you don’t mind too much could you bring my daddy something to eat. He don’t never have no money. And if you see God while you’re up there flying around please tell him to say hi to my baby sister. And ask him to tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t make Mama wake up and take her to the hospital. If you can do all that, don’t worry about bringing me nothing. That stuff will do just fine.”

Your friend,

Jimmy Lee Bailey

*Jimmy Lee Bailey was definitely in need of some love. So, when Christmas morning rolled around he got his Tonka trucks, a bicycle, and a new coat. He also enjoyed a nice meal before moving to his new home. All courtesy of the guys who patrolled the graveyard shift.

 

It’s that time again, where we all join hands in front of a crackling fire to sing the holiday classic …

The Twelve Nights Of Graveyard

On the first night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the second night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, two ghetto whores and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the third night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the fourth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the fifth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the sixth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, six drunks a-peeing,  five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tridge and a cuff key.

On the seventh night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the eighth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the ninth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, nine ladies fighting, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the tenth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, ten perverts peeping, nine ladies fighting, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

Peeping Tom

On the eleventh night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, eleven crackheads stealing, ten perverts peeping, nine ladies fighting, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge and a cuff key.

On the twelfth night of graveyard my sergeant gave to me, twelve hours of overtime, eleven crackheads stealing, ten perverts peeping, nine ladies fighting, eight maids embezzling, seven robbers running, six drunks a-peeing, five … cans … of … pepper-spray, four calls from wackos, three stinky winos, two ghetto whores, and a car-tri-idge … and … a … cuff … keeey.

Candies, cakes, and eggnog.

Turkey, ham, and stuffing.

Pumpkin pie.

My favorite.

Family, friends, and sleeping dog on hearth.

Fireplace crackles.

Cedar logs sizzle.

Cookies and milk.

Laughter, giggles, and squeals.

Stockings and gifts.

Silent wishes and happy, hopeful dreams.

Home.

Wish I was there.

Pepper spray, handcuffs, and puking drunks.

Radios, shotguns, and TASERS.

Spouses abused.

Battered.

Black eyes and broken bones.

Not their fault.

Dealers, robbers, and sad, pitiful kids.

No toys.

Lots of drugs.

Crack pipes burning.

No place to sleep.

No food, no heat.

Gunshots and stabbings.

Car crashes and suicides.

Crying, bleeding, and dying.

Ambulances, hospitals, and morgues.

Home.

Glad I have one.

Aren’t you?


Please remember the many police officers, fire crews, rescue workers, hospital staff, and all others who work to keep us safe during the holidays.

And, thanks so much to each of you who’ve helped our daughter’s battle with cancer through donations, prayers, gifts, and healing thoughts. She’s quite ill, her hair is now gone, and the pain she endures daily is intense, but her sweet smile still lights up a room, and my heart. 

Ellen, prior to receiving chemo.

Here’s how you, too, can help Ellen (our daughter). I cannot begin to stress the importance of each and every dollar. No donation is too small. Click here to help. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You guys are the best and I don’t know how we’d make it through this without you!