Rubber guns

When you are a police academy recruit, they don’t just turn “sidearms” over to you when you are practicing being a cop. They will allow you to practice shooting with a real gun at the firing range, but that is about it. The rest of the time, you are given a little red rubber gun that is really an actual mold of such weapon.

BB had “night problems” in which his academy deployed to a local university campus and had to act out scenarios put on by neighborhood police departments and the academy. The guys were able to drive cruisers (at speeds much too exhilirating) and pretend to chase down the bad guys and so forth. The university that this all took place at just happened to be the one BB had graduated from and the one I was attending during the time BB spent in the academy. Lucky for me, I knew too much! BB had been illegally living in my dorm room with me and I knew his schedule like the back of my hand. So, the nights he had night problems sucked because it was after a long day doing the regular academy stuff, ran into our time together and was just a pain in general. Anyhoot…

On the evening of night problems after BB had left, I decided to go and chase them down via my trusty bicycle. The guys were broken down into groups but lucky me, I came across his group first. I stayed just far enough away and hid inside one of the college buildings so I could keep my eye on him and see what was up. It was sort of fun being all secretive. He never knew that I had planned that and never saw me there that night. I was only able to watch for a bit because the darkness was coming in and it would probably have been too dangerous for my bike to be out and about in the southerly, less traffic-ed areas of campus.

I digress.

The little red gun, right? Well an obvious requirement of recruits is to be able to shoot a gun fairly accurately.  In order to account for such things, they had different firing range levels that they had to pass. They shot at this black and white picture of a guy that was taped up to a target opposite of where they were standing. BB had no problem with most of his shooting. Then he encountered a range that gave him troubles. He tried that first day, was given multiple chances and couldn’t pass. The stress set in. The next opportunity they gave him, same thing except he knew that if he could not pass the next time, he was pretty much done in the academy. Talk about pressure, right?

The eve of the last time he went to shoot, he slept with the little red rubber gun. He said that all during his high school football playing years, he would sleep cradling the football and it seemed to do the trick for the next day’s game. I just went with that… how can you argue with such logic, right?

Not sure what the circumstances were that day but I was back at home and he was still in the city where the academy was for the day. I remember waiting to hear from him because I was SO nervous that he wouldn’t pass. The implications of that day were ridiculous. If he failed, he would fail the academy and not be able to pursue the profession he had dreamed about since he was 16. If he passed, it would be the next step to something great happening in his professional life and the key to opening the door to our future together.

I remember being in the kitchen doing something and was sure I heard a car in the driveway. I ran to the front door and there he was in his little academy get-up SMILING! The hug that followed, the relief and the excitement still bring tears to my eyes. I felt so happy for him. It was amazing. 

The rest of the academy went along swimmingly. He studied, he succeeded as he did at almost everything he attempted or put his mind to. He graduated from the police academy in April of 2000.

It was a very happy day.

Guilt all the way to God

I can still feel guilt for not posting “Happy Birthday” on his birthday, right?

Seriously, I have to let go of these things.

Since a reader asked, BB stands for “Buddy Boy”. I think I typed it somewhere in here a long time ago.

I am sorry that I sucketh with updates. Home life is SO busy with a toddler. Work filtered out blogs so I can no longer post there which is what I had done in the past. I try and keep this quiet at home. I guess it is like my own little private journal.

I think I have been taking the approach lately of not trying to think of things. Well either that or I simply don’t need to think of things. When we were in the area as of late, FRU suggested a visit to the cemetery. I DID NOT want to go. That is unlike me which is why I am going with the trying not to think of things option.

January is a big month for BB’s family. His birthday, his brother’s, his Grandpa’s, his mom’s and his niece’s are all within about 2 weeks of each other. This means lots of family time. We already had the Christmas celebration and the other niece’s birthday just last month. I am surely seeing lots of them!

FRU had a meltdown when we traveled over the holidays. He is still grieving his mom who passed away a few months before BB. He has pretty much coped with it in unhealthy ways and will begin counseling tomorrow which is a GREAT thing. I have high hopes for some positive changes in that respect.

Not to get too spiritual or anything but I do believe in God, have a personal relationship with Jesus… I have sort of had a message driven home to me in different ways lately. I feel like it is just the tip of the iceberg though in regard to what I am about to learn.

Here goes…

We bought a house just before we got married. I thought it was a good decision. I was pretty happy in the house for 4-5 mos.  I was fairly happy in the area although it was far from work. It is pretty, it is was new. But for the last 2 years, I have mostly HATED it here. I feel trapped. I dislike the neighborhood, dislike the area, dislike the commute to work and dislike being so far from any support system on either side of the “family”.  Mostly I focus on how crappy it is that we will never get out of here as the housing crash hit just after we purchased this place and the builder cannot fill this phase let alone the next 2 that he has committed to build. So, people trying to sell their now used homes have to compete with the builder’s new models and all-the-time-lowering prices. Add to that the complete economic breakdown of our state and country and our house is worth a whole lot less than what we paid for it. To sell it and move to a more favorable place, we would lose our butts and have no $$ left for a down payment elsewhere. I know it isn’t the end of the world but please consider the money in this house comes straight out of the aforementioned aftermath. I just can’t see blowing that away.

So, we are stuck. Trapped!

It occurred to me the other day that everything happens for a reason. Yes, even the widow in me can own up to that one. That our living in this very house, in this very area, so despised- is for some kind of reason. Then our pastor started talking about the treasure principle- you can’t take it with you and such. That God has a plan, a purpose for my life. Maybe HE tried to tell us it wasn’t the right choice, maybe HE didn’t. Regardless, he knows the outcome of this move. Maybe HE will direct us to move and bite the financial bullet at some point. I know I don’t think I want to be here too much longer but maybe that isn’t what HE wants for me/us.  We are here now. We have been blessed with a roof, heat, jobs, family and so much more. So it isn’t a more modest (yeah, I hope for a smaller house next), older ranch home with brick on its’ exterior. It doesn’t have a fancy tub for me to lounge in or a fenced yard and storage shed for all our junk. There is no finished basement or a view of the lake. I pray that I hear loud and clear when I need to move on.

Keep your fingers crossed on that one.