CHAPTER THIRTY

Knocked Down but Not Out

MY SURGERY AND LEAF’S PANCREATITIS HAD TAUGHT ME THAT WHEN it comes to survival, you just have to keep going. Leaf came to our home filled with fears related to abandonment and being ripped from all that was familiar. At the dog park, at home, in pet stores, and out on neighborhood walks, he was forced to confront things that frightened him. His indomitable spirit enriched my own growth, as I watched and learned from how courageously he handled life’s daily challenges.

“Time for our walk,” I said with a smile, as Leaf wiggled and gave me his Elvis lip. The park I had chosen for this day had several soccer fields, a baseball field, a children’s playground, a paved walking trail, and a small pond for the ducks. After a week of clouds and rain, it felt pleasant to be out in the sunshine and fresh air. Leaf and I loved our time together, just us fellas taking a walk.

A half-dozen young men played soccer at the far end of one of the fields. They were about eighty yards from where Leaf and I strolled on a paved path around the pond. When nobody was near, I let him off-leash to run and chase his ball.

When we ended the exercise portion of our walk, I hooked the leash back on his collar and sat on a park bench. Leaf sat down in front of me. We both watched the squirrels and ducks. After his running he needed a good rest. We stayed for about fifteen minutes and then began to walk back home.

While Leaf was doing his “business,” a speeding soccer ball dropped out of the cloudless blue sky. But I was too late to stop it. With a thud, it hit poor Leaf in his midsection and knocked him down, flat on the ground. I crouched down to see if he was OK. No worries. He immediately got up, shook his head, and resumed his business. He looked over his shoulder at me as if to say, Stuff happens.

The soccer players ran across the field toward us. “Is he OK?” the ball kicker asked. He petted a tail-wagging Leaf. “I am so sorry,” he added. They all looked genuinely concerned. All the young men took turns petting Leaf and asking him if he was OK. He wiggled and soaked up their attention.

After they left, I again carefully examined Leaf to make sure he was not injured. He looked like he was ready to take another hit from a soccer ball. Bring it on, man!

Leaf’s reaction showed me how victory belongs to those who can shrug off crazily unexpected events in a chaotic universe. It reminded me of an incident from my days as a cop, when I happened to be at a specific place at a specific time.

It was early morning, and the bright sunshine streamed through the front window of my police car. I drove south on a busy four-lane city street, which was referred to by locals as “the Avenue.” Old houses mixed with family-owned businesses and occasional strip shopping centers on each side of the Avenue.

I recall feeling good about the direction my life was taking. I was devoting more time to writing, photography, and oil painting and loving it. I looked forward to our family’s vacation plans. At that moment I felt as safe as Leaf had before he was pelted by the soccer ball.

Suddenly, I thought I heard a gunshot but wasn’t certain. It might have only been a car backfiring. I looked around but didn’t see anything strange. Quickly pulling over out of the right lane of traffic, I shifted my patrol car into park.

The blinding sunlight made it hard for me to see. I became disoriented. Why had I forgotten my sunglasses?

The traffic continued to pass by me, as if there was nothing odd about a police officer’s car parked alongside a busy city street. Had I really heard anything at all? Why did I have the urge to stop?

After a few seconds my eyes finally adjusted to the bright sunlight. I saw an elderly man standing not more than thirty feet from me, on the left side of an old, damaged front porch, near the stairs to the sidewalk. He waved a gun, pointing it in the air. He had a look of confusion on his face.

I radioed in for another unit. I pulled out my holstered gun, pointed it at the old man, and yelled, “Drop it! Drop the gun!” He ignored my command as if he didn’t hear it. I thought, I’m not about to shoot an old man. But he might injure or kill anyone in the area. I crouched down on the driver’s side of the police vehicle and took cover.

He started yelling and waving his gun with more abandon. He still pointed it upward. I hoped I wouldn’t run out of options. I asked God for help, for any way to avoid what seemed an inevitable action. I’d had to draw my gun before this. But in all the years of police work, I’d never had to shoot someone. What I needed was an out-and-out divine intervention. I needed a miracle.

The old man’s elderly wife slowly walked, with the help of a cane, out of the front door and onto the porch. She yelled something into his ear. I screamed, “Get it from him. Tell him to drop his gun!” I watched with relief as she took the gun out of her husband’s hand.

After she had the gun, I ran up and retrieved it. She shouted into her husband’s right ear, “The nice police officer is here to help find your money.” I radioed in to cancel the backup unit.

As this bizarre event continued to unfold, the man’s wife said, “He thinks some local kids stole his money from the change box on our living room table. He called 911. The police never came.” In his confused state of mind, the man had found his gun even though his wife thought she had hidden it well. He wanted to make the kids give his money back.

I examined the man’s gun. He’d waved it around, but it hadn’t been discharged. So where did the noise that sounded like a gunshot come from? The sound had been so loud and distinct that it made me stop the car directly in front of the man’s house.

What might have happened had I not heard what sounded like a shot? What if I hadn’t stopped at exactly this place, at this time? What would the untold consequences have been with a confused elderly man looking for neighborhood youth? What if his wife hadn’t come out to the porch when she did? What if she hadn’t been able to get the weapon away from him? I had received my divine intervention.

I wrote my report of the incident and confiscated the firearm. Later, I placed it in the police department’s property room for safety. His wife offered me chocolate-chip cookies before I left their home. I was tempted but after thanking her, I declined. “I’m watching my weight,” I said.

Stuff happens. Out of nowhere, we’re minding our own business, and something knocks us silly. Flat on our backs. And yet we continually hope for miracles, for divine intervention. I believe that we’re saved from disaster for something we are meant to do, or to be.

I’d soon have clues about the next twists my life would take. I’d begin on a rocky road but move steadily toward the satisfying path of helping and inspiring my fellow travelers.