Separate names with a comma.
Discussion in 'Cop Talk' started by RussP, Jan 14, 2020.
Another joke I’m not picking up?
If not.....I’ll be back.
This reminds me of a car stop I was involved in. I was still on FTO when we got a call of a yellow rental truck with a young girl who matched a missing child. Another Deputy got it stopped and had the driver at the back of the truck, when my FTO and I got there. Another Deputy went to the office and got a picture of the missing girl.
The girl in the truck looked just like the missing girl’s picture. Things got pretty hairy, for a bit. It was very hard for the man to prove the child was his. This was before smart phones were common (only the iPhone existed and most people couldn’t afford them). The guy had some baby pictures, but they weren’t good enough to tell if the child, around four years old, was the same as the baby.
The man was getting very distraught as it was looking like we were going to take the child. Interviewing the child was about worthless as she just didn’t know much. Even the names were similar enough we couldn’t tell if she was saying a different name or if she just didn’t have the vocal capability of articulating correctly.
He was able to call his wife who emailed more recent pictures of him and the child, his daughter, to dispatch, after she was interviewed, on the phone. Those pictures were printed off and brought to the scene, as well as more pictures of the missing girl.
Two of the pictures were close enough to the same angle we were able to verify the girl we had was not the missing girl. If I recall correctly, the only difference we could see was where the sides of the bottom of the nose met the face. All the other points we could compare were the same. She and her father were allowed to continue the trip.
That case always stuck with me. How can you prove who your children are, short if a DNA test? It’s a very scary concept, for a parent.
My FIL had a similar paddle. He said that was the one thing EVERY former student asked to see. He had them write their name on it before he started. When he retired the Principal demanded it stay with the school. Where it was tossed in trash.
I told my younger brother to do that. It made Mom that much madder. Through his outcries, he yells, "RUSS TOLD ME TO DO IT!" I was halfway out the backdoor when I heard my name in THE tone of voice which meant it was my turn...But, Mom just told me not to do it again. I did have to wash the dishes a few more nights that week.
My sis put a metal pie tin in her pants. Mom was not amused. I learned to give with the strike. As it was over jeans it really didn't hurt when you do that.
Once I was being punished for something I didn't do. I had zero reaction. (Normally I faked it hurt) mom got upset. I sad something about her not believing me hurt much more then anything...
Last time she used physical punishment. After she apologized.
I'd have stuck to the kidnapping story as opposed to being released to go home with my parents. And knowing my parents, they'd have played along and let me sit at the station for quite some time.
I was beaten with a belt many times as a kid (slow learner).....
I turned out okay.......sorta.
I would not have been able to sit down for a week had I done such a stunt! Ditto my own kids!!
My parents' favorite was a cutting board with a handle. I was being myself one day and my mom broke it, over my butt. The damn thing split, right down the middle. I laughed. She realized she now had two paddles, an upstairs one and a downstairs one. And, she could get a much better grip on the smaller handle. That wasn't an improvement, from the receiving end.
I got the leather belt, a few times, like when I hid the paddles.
I was probably five, or so. I drew all over the seats of my father's car, with crayons. Unfortunately, I had been pretty occupied with my creative juices flowing and failed to realize my father was standing by the car, for most of my session. What complicated my position was I tried to convince my father it was my brother's doing. In truth, he had started it and I had taken the crayon from him, with force, but not to stop him from doing a bad thing. Oh, no. I took it because I could do bad better. Of all the ass whippings I got, with the leather belt, that one stood out.