A Job Well Done

Hello! Below I posted another fiction piece from the creative writing class I took senior year. This one is not as funny but also not quite as long. And it was fun to write! I edited a couple typos but otherwise resisted the urge to edit further. Enjoy!

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It was just one of those days.  I felt tired, hungry, and frustrated.  Nor did it help that I had spent all night long on patrol.  Now the last thing I wanted to do was spend the day in a park where even my grandmother would have started snoring.  I knew nothing was going to happen.  Especially in a park that hadn’t changed in the last thirty years . . . 

Imagine my surprise when I suddenly heard an old cracked voice cry out from behind me.

“Oh no you don’t!” it said, just as I turned to see old Mrs. Henson standing over Mr. Parker with a paper bag clutched in one hand and her cane threatening to hit him with the other.  But before I could even get hold of my whistle, the old woman had already begun to shout:

“Officer! Police! Help!”

 “Officer Williams?!” a harsh voice barked into my radio and startled me out of my daze.  Blinking open my eyes, I suddenly remembered where I was.  I looked about me and found the inner city road still running to my left with cars whizzing by.  I remembered the radio. 

Not again, I thought to myself.  This better be the call to go home.  Reluctantly I picked up the device and held it up to my face. 

            “Yes Officer?” I asked in a less than enthusiastic tone.  

            “We’ve got to go out again, Williams,” the voice said quickly.  “The old City Bank just had some gold stolen from them last night.  I’m almost certain that it’s the gold thief from Chicago.  We’re closing off the surrounding area and I’m asking you boys to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.” 

            I closed my eyes and gave an inner sigh.  After a long night of searching for a gang of drug dealers that we hadn’t been able to find, I certainly wasn’t in the mood to stand around and “keep an eye out” for a thief.   In any case, this guy had only been sighted once in the past five years, and even then he had been reported to have worn a very non-descriptive tan trench coat and carrying a large cane.  I thought it improbable if not impossible that we’d ever find him.  Today was not going to make any difference.

Yet hoping that Officer Bartley might side with own inclinations, I ventured to ask him about it. 

 “Do you really think that there’s any chance of it, Officer?” 

“Chance of it? What, of finding him?”  Officer Bartley’s voice shouted back.  “Look, Williams, I know that we’re all tired, but we’ve got a job to do.  You owe it to your city and your country.  Don’t forget it.” 

Yes, I thought.  I know.  Normally I didn’t mind the superior officer’s cliché statements, but this time I felt little patience for him.  My throbbing head didn’t exactly help either.

“Where are you putting me?” I asked him. 

“I’m putting you inside the entrance at Gladiator Park.  The other boys won’t be far off though.  You can always call them if you need anything.” 

I nearly groaned at his words.  Far from living up to its title, Gladiator Park had about the least entertainment of any position I had ever been asked to occupy.  In fact, I had noticed the only people who ever went there were birdwatchers and mothers strolling babies up and down the walk.  Sometimes I had seen a random university student steal a bench for a quiet place to study.  Otherwise, no one else in town ever visited.  Of all the places I could’ve been assigned to, it was the worst in terms of keeping me awake.  But Bartley wasn’t finished. 

“Don’t forget to stay near the entrance either,” Bartley added.  “And don’t let anything go in or out without you seeing it.  Make sure that you keep an eye out for anything suspicious—particularly anyone carrying anything which might hold gold coins.” 

“Yes, sir,” I responded stiffly. 

“Over and out,” the officer replied. 

Frustrated with the prospect of spending all day in a sleepy place, I immediately drove over to Dunkin Donuts where I managed to quell the rumbling growls in my stomach with a powdered-sugar doughnut.  Then, as I gulped down a large coffee to stimulate some sort of energy, I drove over to the park and tried to hide the car.  Then I chose a strategic place within the park to pace, making sure that I stayed near enough to the entrance but far enough away that I would not appear obvious.  Now, all I could do was wait. 

Not surprisingly, the day passed rather uneventfully, while my fatigue and hunger only got worse.  The caffeine had worn off a long time ago.  Hence my frustration hadn’t exactly lessened either.  On the other hand, the fact that I was frustrated didn’t exactly surprise me. Officer Bartley had always had a knack for assigning positions that put one out at just the right time. 

Trying to occupy my mind with something, I turned and looked toward the grassy glen at my right.  There I could see Mrs. Henson sitting with her little basket hat on her head and her basket of birdseed in her lap.  For a fleeting moment I wondered whether that basket might contain “something suspicious”.  However, the thought of old Mrs. Henson sneaking into a bank was so ridiculous that I immediately dismissed it.  After all, the woman had to be at least seventy by now.  Neither she nor the park had really changed for the past twenty years. 

I looked at the other person on the bench.  Quiet, mild-mannered George Parker sat with his cane over his arm, his hands filled with food which he periodically tossed to the squirrels and birds to eat. His paper brown bag of birdseed sat just under his seat as always.  Although only in his mid-fifties now, he too had kept watch here for at least ten years or more.  Thus in a sense he too had earned his place as another park fixture.

I decided to turn my gaze towards something else which might be more entertaining.  Looking up towards the front gate, I thought I spied a man in a tan trench coat stalking out. Could it be?  I thought to myself.  But no, it couldn’t.  After all, if we haven’t found him in all this time, what are the chances of find him in the near future . . .

Little did I know that my afternoon was about to take a turn I never would’ve expected.  Before I even knew what was happening, I heard a shout and a loud noise behind me.  As I turned to look, I suddenly spied Mr. Parker on the ground with Mrs. Henson standing over him.  In one hand she held his paper bag of birdseed, while the other held her cane and waved madly over his head. 

“Officer! Police! Help!” the old woman cried. 

Although still stunned by the shocking display I had just exhibited, I immediately blew my whistle and ran over to the scene.  Mr. Parker meanwhile made an attempt to run, but quickly discovered that he had twisted his ankle in his struggle with the old lady. 

“Officer?” demanded Mrs. Henson.  “Arrest him!” 

Still perplexed at the scene I had just witnessed, I first forced the normally tranquil Mr. Parker to stand.  Then I pulled his hands behind his back and demanded to know what had happened. 

“He was trying to steal some money, Officer,” Mrs. Henson responded.  She lifted the hand holding the bag of birdseed.  “Here; it’s right here.”  Opening the bag with her old wrinkly hands, Mrs. Henson revealed what appeared to be at least two hundred gold coins.  I stared at the money in utter shock.  It couldn’t be.  Could it?  Did little old Mrs. Henson just locate the thief for us? 

“How on earth did you know what was in there?”  I asked her in disbelief.

“Well,” began the old woman, twisting her cane round and round in her hand, “I actually just happened to glance at the bag for a second, but then I just noticed that it had a hole and somethin’ gold and shiny was stickin’ out of it.  I knew somethin’ had to be wrong.  So I picked it up and went I went to look inside, Parker jerked it out of my hands and tried to run.”  At these words she lifted her cane and shook it at the man.  “I wasn’t gonna let him go neither!  No, sir, not me!  I lunged after him and grabbed his coat. 

 Pulled him right down on his back.  Soon as he fell I called to you.  And you came just in the nick of time.” 

“I suppose so,” I said, still staring at the hunched over old woman.  Then, coming to my senses, I turned back to my victim. 

“Well, Parker?” I asked.  “Have you got anything to say for yourself?” 

In response I felt Parker try to jerk himself away, but I tightened my grip on him and clamped on the handcuffs.  Then, before he could make another attempt, I promptly reported to situation to the other officers.  Within minutes we all could hear the sirens flying towards us down the road.  As soon as he got a chance, Officer Bartley came up to congratulate me. 

“Well done, Officer,” he said, nodding his head in approval.  “Looks like you caught him. Congratulations.  You should be proud. ” 

Instantly I felt guilty.  Ashamed at the selfish thoughts I had harbored towards him that morning, I realized that he had been right about keeping an eye on the park—and even going out in the first place.  I also knew that the credit didn’t belong to me either.  Thus I immediately introduced him to Mrs. Henson, who had simply gone back to bird feeding. 

Once he had heard the story, Officer Bartley acted almost as surprised as I did and warmly congratulated the woman.  However, he did have one question. 

 “Tell me, Mrs. Henson,” he asked her, “What exactly made you think Mr. Parker stole the money in the first place?” 

“Oh, I always suspected him of somethin’,” the old woman responded.  “After all, when you get to be an old woman like me, you start gettin’ real suspicious of people.  Then you just notice things.  I guess it’s just a good idea to always stay focused and stay alert.  That’s what I call a job well done.” 

You got that right, Mrs. Henson.

Hope for America

It doesn’t matter whether you’re a Republican, Democrat, Independent, Libertarian, member of the Green Party, or something in between—keeping up with America’s central issues is no easy task. Health care, illegal immigration, war with Syria, Benghazi, gun control, raising the debt ceiling . . .  The information revolving around each issue is so crowded with statistics and details that it’s no wonder no one seems to know what’s going on. The confusion is enough to make anyone’s head spin. 

Maybe it’s time to take a step back. To get away from all those confusing details and look at the big picture—whatever that might look like. If there’s one thing Americans need, it’s a focus. A plan. One that benefits everyone. Rich and poor alike. 

Maybe it’s time to take a step back. A giant step . . . Like 200 years. Or at least 11. 

What? 11 years? 

I didn’t realize it at the time, but September 2002 came to mark an important turning point in my life. It was the year that “Liberty’s Kids,” first aired on PBS. For most kids my age, it was the year they watched Nickelodeon, Lizzie McGuire, and other such teen “reality” shows. For me, it was the year that my vision of history changed from the boring, black and white stills of my workbook to the vibrant colors and movements of a cartoon—a cartoon that portrayed a world far more real than that of Lizzie McGuire’s. 

There was Moses, the freed African man employed in Ben Franklin’s print shop. James, the headstrong, teenage journalist determined to “get the story” and do his part in fighting for the American cause. Sarah, the proper yet feisty Englishwoman working to help others but also express her strong opinions. And finally, the little French boy Henri, who spent most of his time making mischief and finding ways to fill his belly. 

Okay, so what do 4 cartoon characters have to do with the real world? Each one of them was—is—just a figment of someone’s imagination. And yet, the reality with which each of these fictional figures reacted to real events and real people somehow made them—somehow made the whole story—seem real. Because the story was real. And my sister and I saw it all. An angry Sam Adams dressed as a Mohawk Indian. The excitement of the American soldiers after their first reading of the Declaration of Independence. The sorrow of losing Dr. Joseph Warren at Bunker Hill. The plans, worries, endeavors, and reaction to the burden placed upon George Washington as Commander-in-Chief of the colonial army. We grew to admire the bravery of the patriotic Benedict Arnold and witnessed in disgust as he betrayed the American cause for his own ambition and a mere 20,000 pounds. And finally, we rejoiced with the rest of colonial America at the victory at Yorktown. Yes, that was the year that I learned how history was more than just a bunch of words. It’s a story. Our story.  

Eventually it ceased to play on PBS. Then, about a year ago I had the opportunity to watch most of them again on DVD. This time, however, something about them struck me—something I hadn’t noticed before.

Everyone kept talking about it. The soldier, the politician, the journalist, the farmer, the slave . . . they were all fighting for the same thing. Freedom. Liberty. It was the one thing they all wanted. 

Now over 200 years has passed. America, once proud of her unique virtues, spends most of her time berating her negative history and patterning herself after other nationalities. Even her greatest virtue has been ignored in current politics in order to accentuate all of her historical mistakes. Patriotism has ceased to exist and internationalism has taken root. 

Yes, it is true that America has made mistakes. And as long as the country continues to place its trust in fallible human politicians, she will continue to make them. But America is not defined by the mistakes of her people.  She is defined by the one principle upon which she was founded. The one thing that makes her unique. The one thing we can all believe in. 

Teenage Sarah Philips is also crushed to learn of the treachery of her own American hero, Benedict Arnold. Yet she refuses to lose hope: 

“Some think that the treachery of such a great general will cause us to lose hope and give up our fight. But we do not fight for Benedict Arnold. We do not even fight for George Washington. We fight for freedom, and that cause is bigger than any man.”

The Three Thinkers

Got the iphone 5? Cool! Latest Katy Perry CD? Sweet stuff. Dating at 16? Good for you. Helping raise money for an endangered species? Wow. That is awesome! 

You go to Church? Sure. Whatever. Never heard of Lady Gaga? Weird. One more drink isn’t gonna hurt you. Seriously. You’re overthinking this. 

Sometimes it seems as if no one has an opinion any more. Because our opinions have already been determined for us. And believe it or not, it’s not usually our parents deciding. It’s the television. The news anchors and Hollywood actors. The internet and college professors. The athletes and world leaders and musicians. Basically, anyone who can reach us through social media must automatically be right. They determine the rules of society. And if you don’t agree with society’s rules, you’re not cool. And there’s something wrong with you. You live in the Dark Ages. And you probably think too much. 

I think most people would agree that our world has become significantly materialistic. When we get our next meal or how soon we get to play the newest video game is the first thing on our minds. Our conversations revolve mostly around something we can physically encounter with our five senses: food, drink, sex, clothing, video games, cell phones, or just people in general—often in the form of gossip. And if someone should instead bring up anything remotely controversial or conceptual than they think too much. If they hold to any of the ideas that they espouse, they are considered odd, rigid, or downright radical. And therefore, un-cool. 

“If you think about it, life is a huge rare gift. And I don’t want to squander it trying to think of the best way to put my thoughts into 140 characters. Tweet, tweet.” 

The creators of the YouTube channel, “Messy Mondays” also think too much. At least, society would have us believe it. Jordan, Josh, and Kelli Taylor, otherwise known as “Blimey Cow” on YouTube, seem to be growing more and more popular for their 3-6 minute videos that they post every week. And yet, they’re not popular because their ideas are popular. Rather, because so many of their ideas just make sense. 

No, you don’t have to agree with everything they say or every video they post. Probably most people would consider their opinions strong and a little—or a lot—extreme. Yet, they still give insightful advice on relationships, the internet, television, and general attitudes in society. They are willing to stand by their faith but also criticize arrogant attitudes that they find in Christian circles. They somehow manage to make things like common sense, unique standards, and even morality—sound cool. Because the ideas they present are cool. They’re awesome. Not because someone told us it was awesome, but because the idea of itself possesses awesomeness. 

Yes, sometimes they act a little crazy. Get a group of 22-26-ish year olds including 2 brothers and one brother’s wife and you’re just going to get a little crazy. It’s a bunch of family and friends finding their own way to help make the world a better place. And having fun while doing it. 

Several of my favorites include “Attack of the Friend Zone,” “10 Things You Should Never Say to a Guy,” “Ten Things You Should Never Say to a Girl,” “The Top 15 Christian Cliches,” “20 Words that are Misused and Abused,” and so many more!

You won’t know whether the show’s worthwhile unless you watch it yourself. So I advise you to check it out. 

http://www.youtube.com/user/blimeycow

 

And their latest: 

“Five Ways I Waste My Life” 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEsC0R-EwjA&list=UU0jIctUPBK6lHw4AYnGHvCA

Something isn’t cool because society tells us that it is. It’s cool because of the goodness or “coolness” that it has by its very nature. So don’t be afraid to think deep thoughts. It’s in these that “awesome” finds its true meaning.

Ubi est Veritas?

“Because I speak the Truth.” 

Weeks ago, I raised the question as to whether or not truth actually exists—that is, whether or not we can say that truth can exist outside the laws of mathematics and physics. And we determined there are certain things that we know must be true. For example, stealing is wrong. And cheating. And murder. So there is more to life than just the basic laws of mathematics and physics. Our own gut reaction, or more specifically, our conscience tells us what’s true and what’s not. So truth does exist—and it’s our job to spread it to the world. 

But wait. Maybe we know that truth exists. But what is it? Is it more than just mathematics or what we might call, “basic morality?” And how can we spread it if we don’t know what it is? 

What about all the truths that people espouse today? Are any of them true? Someone asks us what we think of illegal immigration. A fundamentalist Christian asks whether the Bible is the only source of Divine Revelation. An atheist wonders whether it can be used as a source for any revelation.  There is no end to the variety of political, religious, and philosophical ideas. And no one seems to know which are true and which aren’t. How can we know? 

Perhaps we’re asking the wrong question. Maybe we don’t need to know whether truth exists. Most people seem to think it does in some capacity. Perhaps what we really need to ask is where it exists. And how to find it. After all, a chemistry professor can’t teach chemistry if he doesn’t know anything about formulas. No more can man teach the world about truth if he doesn’t even know what or where it is. He has to find it first. 

Okay, so where is it? 

The truth about truth is that it’s not as hard to find as people think. It’s everywhere. And we don’t have to look for it only in obscure ideas and political philosophies. It just is. 

It’s the glorious sunset that reaches across the sky on a midsummer’s eve. It’s the green caterpillar inching forward in search of his morning snack. The laughter of friends as they roast marshmallows around a campfire. It’s the Bishop handing Jean Valjean the candlesticks, Steve Rogers crashing into the ocean to save his country, Sam-wise Gamgee as he carries his best friend up a mountain. It’s the speeches made by Martin Luther King, George Washington’s refusal to be “king” of America, Shakespeare’s ability to convey both wit and wisdom in his most famous revenge tragedy. It’s fuzzy socks in winter, the exhilaration of a bike ride, the satisfaction of completing a project that you put your heart and soul into . . . chocolate chips, your best friend’s smile, a mother’s arms. Maybe even a man on a cross. 

Truth is everywhere. It’s the thing that makes us say: this is what life is about. This is real. This is true. This is what makes my life worth living. 

It’s not easy figuring out what’s true and what’s not. Fortunately, there is no end to the truth around us. As long as we keep looking. In fact . . . it may even find us first.