Many kids growing up watch their dad's put on different uniforms to go to work in. Some wear a tie, some put on khakis, others might wear a hard hat - but my dad, his uniform was different from others. His uniform came with a badge and a bulletproof vest. It came with heavy, silver metal wrist contraptions that I thought were used by magicians during a magic show. It came with a heavy black object that I was told to never ever touch. He even got this cool car with lights, that had a siren you could blast and even a microphone. I saw my dad ever since I was a toddler leave to go to work at night, which I thought was weird. Why was my dad working at night? Shouldn't he be sleeping? Every night I saw him leave in his "work clothes" and thought it was normal. I had no worries at a young age because I knew that he was just "going to work".

I never fully realized what my dad's uniform meant and what his job really was until I hit double digits. I never realized that when my dad told me he was going to work to help people that it meant he was going to protect and serve my city. That his bulletproof vest wasn't to protect him from paintballs and nerf guns. It was to protect his life. When I was about 12, I learned how dangerous my dad's job was. He and one of his best friends were caught in a shooting and his partner, someone I consider to be my adopted uncle, was shot. Luckily, he was not killed, but the thought alone will leave you worried. Though I didn't fully understand why violence like this occurred, time rolled on into my teenage years, and I fully understood how dangerous my dad's job really was. Any job can be dangerous because let's face it - anything can happen to anyone, but my dad literally works in danger 24/7.

I fully came to understand the meaning of my dad's uniform. What every strap, belt, and holster meant. That his vest is his lifeline. I finally understood what it meant to be the daughter of a cop. I had to learn as an early teen that there is a chance when my dad walks out our door, he may not come home. There is a chance when they phone rings, I could possibly hear that my dad has been stabbed, shot, or killed. I learned that what the new stations show on TV is not the whole story because I would hear the more gruesome version when my dad came home. I learned that when someone says "there are bad people in the world", that's actually a true statement. I learned to cope that on any given day, I could lose my dad.

I have lived through a decade of people hating cops. I live in a world where people hate my dad just because he is a cop. I also live in a world, where if something is wrong, he is the first to get a call to protect the very people who hate him. Being a cop is scary and being a cop's daughter is just as scary. I am thankful for my dad and what he is done with his time on the force, but I cannot wait for his retirement.

I am the daughter of a hero. I am the daughter of a police officer, and I am proud.