COPS

I know my many, many adoring fans (all 2 of you) are anxiously awaiting a Celebrate Life Half Marathon recap. I’m trying to wait until I get all of my swag together so I can properly gush over it. In the meantime, please enjoy this random bit of brain droppings.

Earlier this week, my sister posted this to Facebook:

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with the caption

‘…and dad’s favorite show was born… “Cops is filmed on location with the men and women of law enforcement. The suspects are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law”‘

People commented with “ha” and “lol” knowing that my father really likes that show, but I wondered how many people actually know the extent of my dad’s obsession over FOX’s Saturday night mainstay.

    • He picked up and uses the law enforcement lingo. My father is not and never was a cop, but you would think he was with the way he speaks sometimes. A stellar example of this was when he was trying to ask my mom about a new guy he saw around the neighborhood. My mom works our small village’s Village Hall, so when new people move in, she tends to know about it. Instead of asking, “Hey, do you know who that new guy is?,” like a normal person, he asked something along the lines of, “Who was the 6 foot tall, male black walking southbound?”
    • He’s indoctrinated his children. As shown in the comment that my lil sis added, we all know the intro by heart. “Cops is filmed on location with the men and women of law enforcement. The suspects are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.” And the extro for that matter. “132 and Bush- I’ve got him at gunpoint <static>.”  I’m fairly certain that these phrases were among some of my sister’s first uttered. My brother was definitely reciting it as a preschooler. I, of course, have it memorized, but being older by the time the show actually premiered, knew not to run around saying it to the Adopt-a-Cops at school. His grandson is now learning the ways of the COPS. Whenever he does something that might be bad, my dad starts singing, “Bad boys, bad boys. Watcha gonna do when they come for you?,” at which point my little preschooler runs and hides from the police. Great.
    • Baseball/Basketball season made him cranky. Why? Because those Saturday evening games tended to preempt scheduled programming. He’d bitch and moan that he couldn’t watch COPS for-ev-er. My siblings and I tried buying him VHS tapes and DVDs to assuage him, but I guess it just wasn’t the same. Thanks to syndication, this problem is not that big of a deal anymore. Between the 800 channels full of reality tv, he can typically watch COPS whenever he wants. Or North Woods Law. Or World’s Dumbest Criminals. Or any of the eleventy-million shows just like them.
    • I had to pause my wedding to allow him to watch the show. Stupid me went and got married on a Saturday evening. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I don’t think we had even gotten to the cake yet, but it was almost 8 o’clock. The DJ stopped the music and announced that everyone should look toward the bar. The bartender grabbed the tv remote and clicked it on.

      Luckily, it was a repeat. Dad gave us all the go ahead to go about our business.
    • “It’s ok, Officer. I know what I’m doing. I watch COPS.” Yes. He really said that. To a real cop. He was pulled over. The New York State Trooper was going to try to give him a sobriety test. Before the Trooper could start giving him the instruction to walk the line, dear old dad had already started to do the heel-toe motion. Thank god none of us were in the car or we would have been beyond mortified- but what we wouldn’t give to know if that patrol car had a dash cam video of the encounter.

So that’s my dad. He’s a whack job. We’re all whack jobs. It’s in the genes.  One day X will be writing the about how I watch re-runs of Friends and the X-Files obsessively (or as he calls them- Mommy’s Favorite Movie and the Doobie Doobie Movie, respectively.)

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