A personal story of police and my father

The police raided our home in Istanbul, something that is happening to many innocent families across Turkey just because they are members of Hizmet, inspired by Scholar Fethullah Gulen. Hizmet today is a transnational social initiative that advocates for the ideals of human rights, equal opportunity, democracy, non-violence and the emphatic acceptance of religious and cultural diversity.

A personal story of police and my father

Can It Happen Again? Introduction I was only 19 when I learned that my father was dying of a rare and incurable disease. At first they thought it was tuberculosis, possibly a carryover from his days in concentration camps, but the doctors soon ruled that out. Finally, they called it diffuse pulmonary interstitial fibrosis—merely a description of symptoms.

All they could tell us was that he would die of suffocation very soon.

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I did much thinking in those last few months before my father died. Dad meant more to me than anyone else in the world. I remember sitting in the hospital waiting room in the last days—a thousand thoughts racing through my mind.

Why is he dying? My father was dying, and my world was collapsing around me. I had been too busy trying to fit in with other teenagers to really get to know my dad. I walked into the room. Dad was a pitiful sight. He was under an oxygen tent. His body was extremely thin, with tubes sticking in his arms, his chest and his nose.

He had cuts all over from the many biopsies the doctors had performed to study the disease. He was breathing hard, but very little oxygen was getting into his bloodstream.

He looked much like he must have looked after liberation from the concentration camps. Once again, he was merely a shell of a human being.

Amazingly, he looked up and recognized me. They stayed locked inside until I was about to explode. Finally, I said it. Those little words can mean so much. He heard—and he understood.

That moment felt so good. He died just a few hours later. There were a million things I wished I had said to him and done with him. At least, I had told him that I loved him. He left the camps, but the memories never left him. Many years after the war, they would still come to the surface in his dreams.

My mother, my brother, my sister and I would be in the camps with him in those terrifying dreams. My father suffered with insomnia for all of his adult life. As much as he wanted to sleep, he was afraid that he would just wake up—back in the camps.

Dad started writing his memoirs in24 years after his liberation. He would meet as often as he could with a dear friend of the family, Jack Wyland, and our rabbi, Benjamin Rosayn. Jack had been trying to get Dad to write his story for many years, and he had finally convinced him.

Writing his memoirs was like therapy for my father. He was finally releasing what he had kept locked away for most of his life.Nov 15,  · Berliner said his father was pleased that his story was told.

Berliner, normally a business editor, said he was fielding an uncharacteristic rush of emails and social media notes after the story ran. One father-son duo in Washington took a trip down memory lane in light of Father’s Day this year.

Officer Andy Gould with the Auburn Police Department and his son, Michael, recreated a year. Apr 19,  · After a federal inquiry into sexual violence in U.K.

A personal story of police and my father

schools was announced this week, Everyday Sexism founder Laura Bates created a hashtag, #WhenIWas, to encourage women to share their stories of early sexism.

Women responded in droves, and #WhenIWas is now a virtual battleground filled with women’s stories of sexual . Los Angles Police Department, and the California Highway Patrol. My hope and dream was to be accepted by the Long Beach Police Department and it came true for me.

I was accepted into the Long Beach Police Academy on July 10th, My military experience definitely made the police academy much easier for me. For basically my whole life, my dad was a police officer.

My Father Lt Frank E Smith FDNY lost his life on January 14, while fighting a 2 alarm fire in Brooklyn. He left behind me, my mom Regina, my brother Kevin, and my two older sisters Carol and Pat. A Police Officer's life is full of death and what most people would call unusual situations. To remain a Police Officer a person has to learn to deal with the stress and emotional ups and downs. These stories are meant to give you a little window into what was going on in my life during the 7 years I was a Deputy Sheriff. My father is Sergeant Gerald Tallo, Pennsylvania State Police, retired. He served with PSP from to in various capacities as a patrol officer, detective, and in the traffic division. He continued serving until , teaching A Vehicle Code at the Lackawanna College Police Academy in Scranton and Hazleton, Pennsylvania. My father is the.

He was not just my hero, but the cities hero as well. When I was younger, I would tell my friends that my dad was a cop, and they would think that was the coolest thing in the world. My late father was a sergeant in the RAF.

He was a drinker who didn’t contribute to the housekeeping, a very angry man who beat me for misdemeanours such as wandering outside my designated play.

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