STORY BEHIND COMMUNITY POLICING POEM
After 23 years of doing this job I sometimes
think that I have seen and heard it all, however, it never fails to continue
to amaze me. Last night was just another example.
.
Car 87 (a unit staffed by a police officer
and a mental health nurse) and myself were dispatched to an Incomplete
Phone Call, a call to 9-1-1 that gets cut off for whatever reason (usually
bad). In this case a childs voice was heard and screaming could be heard
in the background. The assumption here was that a child was being injured
and so the response is always frantic, hoping you can get there in time.
.
We got to the address and gained access
to the apartment. When we got upstairs we knocked on the door. All was
quiet inside, heightening our fears that something bad had happened. It
took several knocks before an older lady answered the door. She was quite
calm and everything inside looked ok. We were invited in and on the couch
sat two young girls (Aged 9 and 7). The lady it turned out was the grand
mother of the two girls and had custody of them.
.
She launched into a long explanation of
their and her histories. We finally interupted and asked why we had been
called. She said that she had asked the oldest grand daughter to call because
it was after 11 pm and she could not get either of the children to go to
bed.
.
I let my amazement show as to this misuse
of police services, but, she calmly explained that she thought it would
be best if the police came and helped put them to bed so that they would
understand that she was serious.
.
Now I admit, I was pretty angry about
risking lives (my own and those of the public) by racing Code 3 to a call,
to find out that we were required as baby-sitters. I maintained my composure
and explained to her that this was a blatant misuse of police services.
That having been said, we convinced the girls to go to bed and advised
Granny that next time she was having trouble coping with the kids, to call
her social worker who could arrange some help through social services.
.
.
.