Through a child’s eyes

I recently spent an evening doing a ride-along with the Baltimore City Police Department.

A call came across the radio for a domestic situation. We pulled up in front of a row house in Remington. I was prepared to wait in the car, but to my surprise, Officer Brown turned to me and said, “Let’s go.”

A look of horror crossed my face. The idea of walking into an unknown situation in a stranger’s house was unsettling and—let’s be honest—scary.

Two other officers arrived. Officer Brown knocked on the door and heard “Come in.” I followed her and the two other officers followed me. I found a corner that looked safe and stood there.

A middle-aged couple was busy arguing, and the woman was obviously intoxicated. Her husband wanted to go to bed because he had to get up early to go to work. The woman had asked him to take their granddaughter upstairs to bed with him so she could continue with the evening’s festivities.

An argument had erupted and the situation had escalated. That’s when the man called the police — he’d been released from prison nine months ago and was trying to stay out of trouble.

When we arrived, the man directed his anger away from his wife and toward us. He had a list of reasons he did not like the police: They took too long to get there, they were accusing him of acts he did not commit, they don’t trust anyone, and Baltimore cops only want to shoot people.

The wife joined in with her hatred of police, and soon they were both yelling obscenities and accusations. The officers tried to get the couple focused on the original reason for the call, but the situation was hopelessly out of control.

What I have not told you about this scene is that ever since I’d walked in the door, my eyes had been focused on the granddaughter —a beautiful little girl (probably about 3) with big brown eyes sitting in the corner. During the entire episode the child did not say anything and just kept her eyes on the floor.

What I witnessed that night confirmed to me why some of the children in Baltimore are “lost” at a young age. We all know that the first five years of a child’s life are critical. What this child is seeing right now will probably form many of her core values later in life.

We were in the house for more than an hour and the yelling never stopped, and the child never spoke. As we sat there random men came in and out and would draw the woman to a room off the kitchen for shots of alcohol and loud conversations. It was made clear numerous times, in front of the child, that the entire argument started over her.

When we left, I felt such a strong sense of guilt for leaving this child.

When Officer Brown and I got back in the car I asked how she can go home at night knowing children like the one we just saw are growing up under such difficult circumstances. She said she is realistic and cannot think that she is going to save or change every person she comes in contact with.

She said that she occasionally sees change — a saved child, a reformed addict or ex-con, a women gaining independence from a bad home. Victories like these keep her going. When she loses the compassion she has for Baltimoreans and her desire to help others, she will know it’s time to find a new career. {EXA}