I started my career as a police officer in November 2009. In January 2010 I was dressed in khakis with black boots and a name tag marked DAVIS. After 6 months of weekly exams, daily physical fitness test and 6 hours of Texas Law I graduated as a sworn Police Officer in June 2010.
“I didn’t choose to wear a blue uniform, bulletproof vest and velcro belt lined with equipment that would save my life when it was threatened just because it was a fun job. It wasn’t job to me; I became who I was because I have a purpose, to help people. To give another human the best of whom I am. To save a stranger’s life when they don’t know me nor do they owe me. This is what I was sworn to do.” – D. Davis
In uniform society expected things from me and of me. They expected me to be there whenever and wherever they called for help. The expected me to be the one to resolve issues that they created. They expected me to take control and calm any type of disruption. They expected me as a 5’ 3’ female to handle men and women that stood taller than me and have the look of death in their eyes. But because of the uniform I wore that carried more pieces of equipment that I would be required to use to save my life and the life of others, I still had expectations.
What does any of this have to do with me being a model? Well it has everything to do with it. For years I have told only those who needed to know of my previous career. Even when I was still wearing the uniform for over 40 hours a week only a few people knew what I did as my full time job. I did this because I knew of the expectation that lives in the badge. I know of the judgment that comes with the uniform. I know that everyone does not like the po-po and that when they say, ‘What’s up BOSS’, that they are calling me a Stupid Son of a Bi@%h, backwards. Yes, I know all about the feeling of being hated not because of who you are but simply because of what uniform you wear.
In August 2014 I turned in my 2 weeks notice and on Thursday night I walked into the locker room for the last time, untied my boots, removed my bullet proof vest and unpinned my badge. I stopped half undressed alone in the locker room with my hand holding my badge. I felt the weight in it, every pound that it carried for over 5 years. My eyes began to water because for the first time I was stepping away from something that I worked so hard for. Literally, blood, sweat, tears, and judgment, all of these things that I pushed through so I could help a stranger. So I could reach my hand out to someone and help him or her. Did I do this in my 5 years? I like to believe that I did. I like to believe that the man that I pulled out of a burning vehicle thinks so. Or the mom that was on the street at 1 a.m. in 35 degree weather with her 5 month old baby felt that I helped her find a warm place to stay that night. Even the drunk guy that cussed me all the way to the detox appreciated a safe place to sleep it off. Who knows, I will never know if I truly helped anyone. But this was the beauty of the job, you work hard all day helping those who hated you. Feeling unappreciated but always rushing to the call.
This post isn’t about me being a model you know, the pretty side of things. This is a small insight on someone’s life that wore the blue. I know everyone has the power of their own decisions and their own choices. We have the right to stand up for what and whom we want. I have seen a lot of my friends true colors in these past months. 2016 has brought about a lot of pain, and a lot of change. I just ask one thing, if you are reading my blog post the next time you see one that I use to be, the one in the blue. Please take a moment to think.
Just a moment,
to see beyond the uniform and see that they are human too.
With love and hope for a better future, I deeper view of reality.
Yours truly, Officer D. Davis #444