My mother was very explicit when I was growing up: don’t talk to police officers. Walk away, keep your head down, and remain silent. I assumed it was the way things operated where we lived and never really gave it much thought.
I wasn’t impressed when Officer Branch began visiting our school. He was constantly grinning, handing out stickers, and making an excessive effort. Most of us paid him no attention.
But then he appeared one Friday morning in a big dog costume. I’m referring to a complete mascot outfit, complete with large floppy ears. This tall dog was giving out high fives and dancing as if he had lost all his dignity while we were outdoors for recess.
I didn’t even realize I was laughing.
He then began to visit more frequently. Always with that same intensity, but not always dressed up. He brought popsicles one day. He assisted a child in repairing his bicycle on another day. He then kneeled beside my young cousin during a fire drill when she was suffering a panic attack, and he remained with her the entire time, simply breathing calmly and slowly until she stopped shivering.
I was in the corner of the picture when he took a photo with us. didn’t give it much thought.
However, that same picture was reproduced and given to me in an envelope a few days later. On the back, there was a marker note.
What about the letter he wrote?
“Hey Malik, you seemed so content in this picture! I wanted to remind you that positive energies like yours are noticed by others. Continue to shine.
It totally changed my perspective on everything.
You see, Officer Branch had evolved into more than just a uniformed man. He didn’t act superior or give lectures. Rather, he observed some aspects of us. For example, Jamal detested using his last name since it made him think of his father’s ranting. Or how, whenever Maria felt anxious, she would always tuck her hair behind her ear. Now me? “The kid with good vibes” was me. That was something no one had ever said to me before.
Old habits, however, are hard to break. Every time a police car passed our neighborhood, my mother would still murmur something beneath her breath. She shrugged and said, “Don’t get too attached,” when I explained what had happened—the note, the photo. People are subject to rapid change.
I nodded, but something felt off in the back of my mind.
After school, a few weeks later, I was sitting by myself close to the basketball court. I enjoyed watching the bigger children play while I waited for Mom to come get me, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, they were preventing anyone from participating in their game today. Whenever someone inquired, they consistently responded, “Not right now.” Miguel, a thin seventh-grader, was standing off to the side looking crushed at that point.
“Wanna shoot hoops?” I replied before I could change my mind. I gestured to the empty hoop at the court’s far end. We were giggling as we missed shot after shot as his expression brightened. We didn’t care that we weren’t very good.
At that point, Officer Branch walked onto the court wearing sneakers and regular clothes instead of a dog costume. “Would you mind if I joined?” he asked, clapping his palms together.
Miguel looked at me anxiously as he froze. After a moment of hesitation, I shrugged. “Yes.”
Officer Branch wasn’t that bad at basketball, it turns out. On one occasion, he even let Miguel to dunk (well, he boosted him, but still). We were all three sweating and smiling when Mom honked from the car.
Officer Branch bent down a little as we shook hands to say our goodbyes, saying, “Malik, you have leadership potential. Don’t waste it.
After then, things returned to normal, at least for a while. Until everything changed one wet afternoon.
I heard shouts coming from around the corner as I was carrying a bag of chips home from the supermarket. Another individual was encircled by men shouting allegations. He was forcefully pushed up against a wall by one of them. Holding his hands up defensively, the man staggered. I couldn’t move, yet something about the scene felt strange. I was anchored to the spot by fear.
Then sirens sounded. Officers poured out as two police cars skidded to a stop nearby. One of them? Branch Officer.
My heart fell. Mom had forewarned me that the police would arrive and exacerbate the situation. Officer Branch, however, signaled his comrades to wait by raising a hand rather than acting immediately. Then, speaking gently, he moved forward gradually.
His voice was calm but compassionate as he said, “Fellas.” “What’s happening here?”
Officer Branch continued to talk despite the tension being so intense that it could be sliced with a knife. After listening and asking questions, he persuaded everyone to quiet down. That day, no one was taken into custody. Just a lot of conversation, along with some potential trust-building.
I questioned him later about why he handled it that way. “Because fear doesn’t solve problems,” he remarked with a smile. Listening does.
A month later, life dealt me a curveball I never anticipated. I found Mom sobbing at the kitchen table when I got home from school. She refused to look at me, and her phone was lying facedown next to her.
“What’s the matter?” I dropped my backpack and asked.
“Your uncle Ray… they arrested him today,” she added, sniffling.
Uncle Ray had been in trouble before, so he wasn’t perfect, but he was family. My chest constricted. “For what purpose?”
“He was accused of robbing a convenience store.” She gave a headshake. Ray wouldn’t do it, though. Not until he was in dire need.
Are you desperate? Even so, what did that mean? Since I was at a loss for words, I gave her a hug.
I saw Officer Branch once more the next day. I didn’t smile or laugh this time. I just looked at him, feeling enraged. His job was to lock people up, so how could he act nice?
He must have noticed something in my face because he paused and asked, “Is everything okay, Malik?”
“No,” I yelled. “It’s not. Yesterday, you took my uncle into custody.
His face dropped, and he briefly had a sincere expression of regret. He acknowledged, “I’m not proud of that aspect of the job.” But pay attention—there are methods to assist your uncle if you so choose. Find out what brought him there first.
I was struck by their words. In the weeks that followed, I discovered more about Uncle Ray than I had ever known. families with limited resources. Uncle Ray hadn’t told anyone that he had lost his job months prior. He had been having trouble feeding himself and paying his rent. That convenience store night? He was snatching food, not stealing money.
I assisted in gathering evidence to support Uncle Ray’s goals under the direction of Officer Branch. It wasn’t simple, and at times I wasn’t sure if it would succeed. The accusations were finally dropped, though, and Uncle Ray committed to looking for assistance through neighborhood initiatives.
Officer Branch remained active because he cared, not because he had to. He gave us access to resources we were unaware of and followed up frequently to inquire about our progress.
As the months went by, I began to see Officer Branch less often. But he always greeted me with that same loving smile when I did see him. He took me aside one day and gave me a little notebook.
“What is this?” I inquired.
“That’s for you,” he declared. Put your ideas, thoughts, and dreams in writing. Remember, you have the capacity to be a leader. Perhaps one day you’ll discover a way to improve everyone’s situation.
Touched by the gesture, I turned the pages. I believed him for the first time.
I started mentoring at a nearby youth facility years later. Officer Branch taught me to listen first, and I strive to live by it every day. Establish trust. Even in unexpected locations, like a dog costume, compassion may have a profound impact.
Thank you if you have read this far. These kinds of stories are important because they serve as a reminder that connection is the first step toward transformation. Please tell others about this article if you enjoyed it. One person at a time, let’s share the message that compassion can change lives.