My Worse Failure

I thought I was doing the right thing for my family. My daughter Kathleen was arrested for D.U.I., and I went down to the station and got her out before she could be processed. She didn't belong in that holding cell. Heck, she wouldn't have been there if her mother hadn't let her go to that party where the liquor had been served. I mean, where were the parents?!

I stood by my decision for a long time. I even told my captain, who was very angry about my actions, that I would do it again. Who cared what he thought? What did he know: he doesn't even have kids. And Kathleen stayed out of trouble like I knew she would. So, that was the end of the story, right?

Wrong.

I started re-thinking things---just a little---about two years later. Judge Donnelly mentioned what I had done when I criticized her lenient decision regarding an alcohol-related case. How did she find out?! How many other people knew?! Anyway, I eventually burned my daughter's license, fulfilling all obligations. After all, the State would have suspended her driving privileges anyway, right? The important thing was that I had protected my family while teaching Kathleen an important lesson. The whole matter was behind us forever.

Only it wasn't. Somehow, a cop-turned-defense attorney learned about what I had done and mentioned it while cross-examining me in court. Judge Donnelly, who was the presiding judge, was force to put into motion my daughter's arrest. Furthermore, Internal Affairs demanded my presence. But the worse was yet to come.

While Darius Parker, a dangerous man whose subsequent acquittal I'd facilitated, walked freely on the streets, my beautiful child was paraded in front of her neighbors by two of her daddy's colleagues. Metal handcuffs encircled her delicate wrists even though my little girl never harmed an innocent person, not even that fateful night two years ago. When she sat in the backseat of that police car, she gave me a look I haven't seen since she was a toddler. But all I could do was put my hand to the passenger window before my Kathleen was taken from me.

So that brings me to my conclusion: I've failed. I've failed to protect my daughter from getting an arrest record. I've failed to separate the harsh world I deal with on the job from that innocent one that my family safely inhabits. I've failed to keep my daughter's fingerprints and mug shot out of the system. That's why I'm crying the way I did whenever my father called me a failure.