Today our son is 18. Funny . . . that expression "turned;" has his sweetness just suddenly turned sour, like a bottle of milk forgotten on the kitchen counter, or a stick of butter which has suddenly turned rancid? Have we now lost our voices and all our validity? Will he not listen to us for about seven more years until he realizes how much we've learned since he was still a teenager? 18 years ago, he came into this world on a Sunday morning in Alaska during a snowstorm (surprise!) It was the first day of both Advent and Channuka that year.

I have learned that I hate working. I really do. I can't stand my job. I can't take the stress of it all. I already have so much work with school and now I have another job. I swear if I didn't have to pay for things, I wouldn't work. And all the money that I did get from this lousy job will be going away to pay for my car. And for the rest of my life it will be like this. I will always have to have a job. This thought really scares the shit out of me.

The training at the academy was demanding, both physically and mentally. Although I never thought of quitting there were several recruits who did. Some I expected would drop out, yet there were others, strong men and women, who could not handle the stress we recruits had to endure. As the training progressed, I became increasingly focused on the tangible rewards of being a police officer; and I attribute my high marks on that dedication. I must have impressed somebody higher up because upon graduation from the academy I was given the unprecedented choice of selecting where I wanted to work.