What chance do they have?

My partner and I were recently patrolling one of the more crime-ridden apartment complexes on Nord Avenue. As we were pulling out of the complex, I saw a little 6 year old girl riding her cute little pink bicycle. When the little girl saw us, she screamed, “COPS!” then flipped us off. You heard it right, in perfect form, she gave us the finger.

I was shocked. I stopped my car and asked her, “Hey, baby-girl, what was that all about?” The little girl smiled a sweet smile, waved and rode away.

That situation left me with severely mixed emotions. On one hand, it’s kinda funny that we were flipped off by such a little girl. On every other side though, it’s completely disheartening that such a young child has been trained to act in such a way to the Police.

Does she hate us? No. Her smile and wave told me that. She did what she was taught by her parents to do. This incident begs the question, “What chance does she have in life?”

Here is this beautiful little girl with matching pink bike and dress, with her hair done up in neat little cornrows and colorful beads woven in; and she has little chance at success in life. These anti-social attitudes will do nothing but harm in her life. I realize that people can overcome anything in life, but why stack such odds against a little girl?

I recently spoke with a couple in downtown Chico, who were arguing in front of their children. The children shied away from my partner and I when we spoke with them. The father told us, “They’re scared of Cops.” Really. "And why is that?" I wondered. The father’s negative attitude, anti-social tattoos and dress spoke volumes about his previous encounters with law enforcement.

I tried to explain to the father that fear of Police is taught. I tried to explain that if he wanted to change their attitudes towards law enforcement, then it was up to him to change it. I further told him that he should start refering to us as “Police” rather than “Cops”, a word they associate with negatively. I saw the father a few weeks later and he said, “Look kids, it’s the Cops.”

The final story I’ll share is best illustrated by the following photo:

I took this photo in an apartment where domestic violence was prevalent. I looked at the sweet little faces of these children and was struck with sadness. They have no idea what they are doing, and what destruction this lifestyle is going to cause them. They only know that it makes their parents happy when they pose like that. These innocent little boys have no idea that this lifestyle that they are being taught will almost guarantee them that they will never be financially successful, or lead happy and violence-free lives. They only know that their parents are not yelling at them right now.

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Children...

I have had a great deal of interaction with children during my years in the emergency services. It must be so confusing for them to understand what is happening. I have had to take children out of some pretty terrible homes. Sometimes it’s due to physical abuse, they're living in filthy cockroach infested homes, or from them being in toxic methamphetamine labs. It’s heartbreaking to watch the child cry for the parent that just got done abusing or neglecting them. The person may be a lousy parent, but it’s all the child knows.

Many events flood through my mind as I write this blog. These are not the worst of the experiences that have happened in Chico. I have no interest in sharing those. My goal perhaps is to help open our eyes to some of the challenges facing our community and the smallest members therein.

Case one:
Early in my career as a Paramedic, I was called to an upscale home in the north east portion of Chico. I arrived to find a young mother sitting in a chair holding a small one year old child in her arms. Deputies were standing on either side of her and were attempting to calm her down. The female was talking rapidly, jumping from subject to subject.

Despite the fact that we were in the nice home, in the nice neighborhood, in the nice town, we were dealing with a mother who was addicted to methamphetamine and was completely incapable of caring for her own child. Reasoning failed and the Deputies eventually had to take hold of the mother’s arms so that I could retrieve the child.

The infant smelled of urine and had a sagging diaper. I changed the diaper and took him to the hospital for evaluation. The mother was arrested and taken to jail for being under the influence of methamphetamine and for child endangerment. Thanks meth.

Case two:
While working as a Deputy in the Magalia area, I received a call for a six year old 5150. For those unfamiliar with the term 5150, it connotes in part that one is a danger to himself or herself due to mental illness or deficit. I figured that I was at the bad end of the “telephone game” and would figure things out for myself when I got to the scene.

I arrived at the home and found something that quite frankly scared me. There on the couch being clutched by his exhausted grandmother was a sight I did not think possible. The six year old boy was snarling and panting like an animal. His forehead was bleeding from where he had repeatedly smashed it into the brick fireplace.

Grandma explained that this is not an unusual occurrence stating that mom was an addict during the pregnancy and that dad was in prison. The toxic drugs she took into her body destroyed this child’s mind and future. Thanks meth.

Case 3:
While working with Chico Police Detectives, we went to a home arrest a woman. My partner said that the woman had several diseases due to hypodermic drug abuse. When we arrived we could hear the woman screaming at her three year old daughter and five year old son. The children were cowering in their rooms in a completely filthy house. The home had plates stacked high on the kitchen countertop and on the floor alongside the dog’s food dish.

Once inside, we found the woman walking around completely naked. The woman stopped screaming at her children and started begging us not to take her to jail. My partner advised her to put on some clothes. The woman wandered about in the bathroom for a bit, then went into the bedroom. She leaned over the clothes basket for a moment then stood up quickly. Clutched in her hand was a hypodermic syringe (used many times by its appearance) which was full of heroin.

The woman held the syringe about a foot from my partner’s chest. I began to draw my sidearm when she began to retreat to the other side of the room. For those unfamiliar, a used syringe is more than capable of carrying any number of life threatening diseases and is therefore a deadly weapon. My partner’s death would have been slower than if she had a gun, but fatal nonetheless.

A short standoff ensued while the woman threatened to charge us with the syringe. The woman eventually stabbed the needle into her stomach and injected a portion of the heroin. She withdrew the needle and stabbed it again into her thigh, injecting the remainder of the syringe's contents. The woman dropped the syringe and we took her into custody.

We retrieved the children from their bedrooms and took them into protective custody. Thanks heroin.

These are some of the things that happen every day in Chico. There are children who go home to hell each day and can do nothing to protect themselves. While some children argue over what game to play on the video game console, others wonder if the “bad man” will come and take daddy to jail again.

I’ve heard it said that approximately fifty percent of children who have ever been born have not made it past the age of ten. I do not know where that figure came from or how one would quantify such a thing. What I do know is that children often bear an awful burden in this world from the actions of those who were meant to protect them. They often carry those wounds throughout the remainder of their lives.

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