It was supposed to be a quick lunch. After a long shift, I picked up my daughter, Zariah, from daycare. She’s five and obsessed with my uniform, so she wore my old patrol cap to Burger King. She was strutting around like the sheriff, getting smiles and attention.
But then, a woman began recording us. I didn’t think much of it until the next day, when I saw the video on Twitter with the caption: “Why are officers letting children cosplay as cops in public?” It went viral, and by noon, I had a meeting with Internal Affairs.
I explained it was just Zariah playing, but they were concerned about “public perception.” They said they’d decide next week.
Then I got a message from Dr. Amari Toussaint, a media ethics professor. She wanted to talk about the incident. We had a long conversation where she asked thoughtful questions about how I balanced being a cop and a dad. She posted our conversation online, and this time, people understood. They shared their own stories of kids dressing up like their parents.
The local news even ran a segment about us, and Zariah stole the show by saying, “I want to be just like my daddy, but I’ll let the bad guys go if they say sorry.”
By the time my IA meeting rolled around, the investigation was dropped. The department said, “Just be careful where you wear the badge—even the toy ones.” Lesson learned.
A few weeks later, Dr. Toussaint invited me to speak on a panel about parenting in uniform. I showed up with Zariah in a sparkly headband, holding my patrol cap. A teacher in the audience said, “Kids see the world through stories. And when they see parents living their values, that’s powerful.”
That hit me. I never wanted Zariah to follow my footsteps, but maybe she just wanted to understand them.
The real lesson? Don’t let a stranger’s snapshot define your story. The voices that ask, listen, and understand—those are the ones that matter.
