Secrets

Secrets, why do we keep them when they only involve ourselves? I realized this weekend that when I reveal my secrets on this forum, I’m embarrassed for days, but I get my highest open rate. So here is a secret story. 

It was early in my police detective work. A pal at work told me about a man who she said worked for the FBI. I met him in the north. He introduced me as a detective from Lebanon, and though that was accurate, I wasn’t a true police detective. It was late at night and the other cops looked up from their desks and computers, and then ignored me. 

Now girls, let me tell you, this man was gorgeous, with a perfect face and a small, strong body. First off, I knew he wasn’t FBI. Turned out he was a plant, and part of another agency, but I can’t tell you that secret part, meaning what he was spying on, but I can tell you it wasn’t a murder case. He was a sharp shooter and once called me from a stake-out. That was exciting. 

But let’s get back to my story. As we sat and then walked the town, I told him what I knew about his secret mission, and that my nickname for him was Robocop. He was sold after that, because when he doubled on weekends as a street cop, the kids called him Robocop. 

The man he was spying on was indicted later, a bad guy in the midst of politics and law enforcement, but at the time I worked with him, Robocop was a bit frustrated and sick of his assignment. I found it thrilling and a lovely change of pace from nice people getting murdered. 

We became close for a few days. I will never forget him. Soft-spoken with a hard body and a sweet soul. In the Vietnam War, he was a tunnel rat. Other cops told me that tunnel rats were crazy and brave. A specialized group of U.S. Army soldiers and combat engineers, along with some from other allied nations, tunnel rats ventured into the Viet Cong's vast underground tunnel systems during the Vietnam War. These soldiers were volunteers who were chosen for their small stature, agility, and mental toughness, as the tunnels were often extremely narrow, dark, and filled with booby traps. Other vets have told me that it was the scariest situation. The life expectancy of a tunnel rat in Vietnam was seven seconds.

I don’t know how to end this, since we lost contact. I just know that he was brave and fearless, and that he seemed to miss close contact. I always wonder why I didn’t ask how he kept secrets so easily.

Fostering and Facebook

I’m having a hard month that I wasn’t able to predict. A bad person took over my Facebook page and changed my password and the email in the middle of the night. Facebook didn’t care, until I asked forty friends to bombard them with “this page is a fraud” comments. Facebook shut my pages down, and I have no more access. But at least the bad person can’t continue to pretend to sell items and ask for a deposit so my friends lose money.

On the other hand, I’m having the time of my life. Most likely this is hardest thing I’ve ever done, which is to foster a 12 year old boy. I’m never bored, but he needs help with a myriad of issues. The love is boundless, but for the first week I wanted to cry every hour. I’m SO tired, but I’m better this week at expressing what I need, like to read and rest, instead of thinking of what he so direly needs every minute. I will never be able to catch up to his neglect.

My pal Leslie said, that must be hard intuitively, which is a sweet thing I had never thought about. All day long we connect intuitively with other people, and I know that some of you get worn out with people connections at work and in your social life.

I went to a little fair at the mall with my foster son. That was so hard. I’m a super smeller and the people hadn’t broken out their deodorant for summer. They wore strange costumes and had unusual, scary things for sale. My foster son asked 10,001 questions, and the vendors oozed kindness. Another huge kindness event was last week when he and I went birding with the Mt. Gretna Birding Club. We saw 43 types of birds, walked for three hours, trekked through swampland, and put binoculars to our faces, over and over. I explained how much I like nerds, and he asked 10,005 questions.

Whether you call it serendipity or synchronicity, people cross our paths and affect us. Sometimes for evil, but mostly for good. As the Wicked song goes, I have been changed for good.