One Old Man
Our family had fourteen children and our neighbors would end up having nine children. It didn't take much more to make a crowd if we were ever at the same place at the same time. When they first moved in it didn't take long to find out that the dad was a police officer. He was the first lawman that I had ever known. They lived but a few doors down and across the street so as kids we played and just hung out a lot. For a long time I wondered if I was every breaking the law or doing something that would turn out with me sitting in a jail cell. And as a young pre-teen I always wondered whether he carried his gun in some hidden holster when he'd come to church. I think the question helped my general comportment.
He was a tall man and he had a really firm grip when he would shake your hand. He always looked me right in the eye and asked, "How are you?" He was one of the few adults who actually waited for an answer. If things were good he'd share in your happiness and if you seemed a little down, his eyes would twinkle and with a quick grin and a joyful tone in his voice he always knew what to say. As I write this, I am an almost 48 year old man. When I was about 14 years old I found myself in front of his house waiting for his son to come outside when he pulled up in his police car.
As he got out of his car I took a look at him and thought about how old he seemed. As I do the math today, he would have been in his late 30s. But from my naive, adolescent eyes he was old. He paused and spent some time with me while I waited and I started asking him some questions about his job. At one point I inquired about how someone as old as he was able to chase down criminals who were surely younger, faster, and stronger than he was. He thought about it for several moments and told me that I had asked a really good question. When he finally answered I remember him saying, "It's a good thing that most of my work is behind a desk and that I don't get into scuffles. . . "
That wasn't the end of the sentence but I don't really remember what else he said and I can't even tell you what happened. All I remember is that I was suddenly on the ground with my face pressed into the prickly grass. Gradually I realized that there were handcuffs on my wrists and I couldn't move. He then said, "I don't think I've ever met a criminal as fast as you."
Dennis Nordfelt died this week. This is but one memory of many from a man who helped shape the man I am.
He was a tall man and he had a really firm grip when he would shake your hand. He always looked me right in the eye and asked, "How are you?" He was one of the few adults who actually waited for an answer. If things were good he'd share in your happiness and if you seemed a little down, his eyes would twinkle and with a quick grin and a joyful tone in his voice he always knew what to say. As I write this, I am an almost 48 year old man. When I was about 14 years old I found myself in front of his house waiting for his son to come outside when he pulled up in his police car.
As he got out of his car I took a look at him and thought about how old he seemed. As I do the math today, he would have been in his late 30s. But from my naive, adolescent eyes he was old. He paused and spent some time with me while I waited and I started asking him some questions about his job. At one point I inquired about how someone as old as he was able to chase down criminals who were surely younger, faster, and stronger than he was. He thought about it for several moments and told me that I had asked a really good question. When he finally answered I remember him saying, "It's a good thing that most of my work is behind a desk and that I don't get into scuffles. . . "
That wasn't the end of the sentence but I don't really remember what else he said and I can't even tell you what happened. All I remember is that I was suddenly on the ground with my face pressed into the prickly grass. Gradually I realized that there were handcuffs on my wrists and I couldn't move. He then said, "I don't think I've ever met a criminal as fast as you."
Dennis Nordfelt died this week. This is but one memory of many from a man who helped shape the man I am.
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