As I’ve watched the news in the past week and a half and seen the police shootings in Minnesota and Baton Rouge, along with the ambush of Police officers in Dallas, I’m shocked by how low our humanity has sunk. On the one hand you have this small contingent of officers, whether it’s through poor training, corrupt morals, or fear under pressure, who paint the greater law enforcement community in a poor light. On the other you have isolated shooters that have their own agenda and feel violence is the only way they will be taken seriously. I know this seems like the standard operating procedure when watching a situation like this but here is where I differ. Those five officers who laid down their lives and the seven more who got injured weren’t just another officer to me–– they were a flash of my family.

Growing up my dad had the coolest job ever for a little kid, he drove the fire truck. My father has been a firefighter in the town of Brookline for over thirty years now and has driven an engine truck almost his entire career. But in my family the public service doesn’t stop with him. His brother in law was a lieutenant on the Brookline fire, my grampie was a firefighter, my uncle was a Brookline police officer and my grammie was one of the first female crossing guards in Brookline.

They inspired me to pursue a career in public service and law enforcement which is just beginning as a Community Service Officer for Babson College’s Police Force. The fire lieutenant ran into a burning building, without the benefit of having a fire hose (also known as a line) to find his way out, to save a woman trapped on an upper floor. The police officer put his life in harm’s way several times to catch fugitives and ultimately bring the bad guy to justice. When asked at their award ceremonies if they would do anything different, they all say the same thing: no. What these stories and ceremonies bring up for me though is that little fear I had when I was a child of wondering whether Dad might not come home tomorrow.

There are only two moments in my life where I can say I truly feared that my dad or family might be injured in the line of duty–– One was the Boston Marathon bombings and the other was in the wake of the Upstate NY firemen that were ambushed by a fake caller. In both of those moments my heart stopped and I really thought hard about why people would do this and how someone can ignore the danger to help someone. As a kid I used to sometimes get worried that Dad wouldn’t come home because I didn’t fully understand the extensive training, the equipment or the order of who goes into a fire first.

It didn’t matter I just thought, unless I asked my dad what went on that day when he called to wish us goodnight, that I may never hear my dad’s voice again. At the same time I accepted that this was a reality of my family’s career path, there may be a day where one of them didn’t come home. Until I went off to college and got older I never comprehended what that did to me as a person. It made me closer to my parents, call home more often, and easier to accept that sometimes things aren’t meant to come back or people aren’t meant to come home. It allowed me to stay calm when things got stressful or hectic because panic and anger make mistakes. The latter two emotions I know are what the children of the hurt and slain officers are feeling, and the former emotion of fear were what the children of the wounded and involved officers were feeling.

So when I saw the story of the Dallas shooting this morning I didn’t think of the politics, of the hidden agendas, or of the racial dynamic. I thought of the child, family member, life partner or friend who will wake up with that loved one no longer here. That phone call I used to fear my mom would get as a naïve 5, 6, 7 or 8 year old as we slept on dads work night. My own career path stared at me from that screen and dared me to continue to follow my family’s footsteps of public service, knowing full well that I could be the victim of the next attack.

All of these men and women, these wives and husbands, these fathers and mothers, all knew what they were doing when they signed up to be a first responder. Now that child that had the same fear I did of their not coming home will grow up with the knowledge that their parent died saving others because that is what they were trained to do. As I’ve heard time and time again from friends and family in this first responding field “If I don’t do it who else will? Who will protect my kid? Who will protect my community?” What we need to protect, as a nation, is that first responder's ability to go home and make their child not worry anymore.