Gotham: Okay. Where is the damn ring??? ;p

If we knew the answer to this question, it would clear a whole lotta things up.

"What ring?" you may be asking.

BARBARA'S ENGAGEMENT RING.

Because I believe she had one. If she didn't, this whole post is pointless and you may as well click away now.

Barbara, if you are not aware, is (or was) engaged to Jim Gordon. After being kidnapped by one of the seemingly infinite array of gangsters running around Gotham City, she ended up "taking a break" from Jim. She left him a "Dear John" letter -- as well as her fancy apartment -- and headed back into the arms of her long-ago lover, Renee Montoya. I don't blame her really. Renee -- in many ways -- is much less annoying than Jim. I mean, I love Jim. Jim is great. But, he would be a rather difficult man with whom to be involved. He is intelligent, honest, handsome, looks nice in a suit, and -- apparently -- mixes a good cocktail. On the other hand, he is stubborn, rather emotionally unavailable, and so gung-ho and hard-charging that he probably would not be the most relaxing person with whom to pass a pleasant Sunday afternoon watching the Dallas Cowboys. After observing Jim for a while, it's kinda easy to understand why Barbara drinks a little.

Anyway...

Back to the "Dear John" letter.

We see Jim reading said letter and then leaving Barbara a heartfelt phone message -- begging her to come back to him. As he leaves this message, Barbara is in the arms of Renee. This little scene led many in the "Gotham" fandom to "hate on" Barbara. (Ben McKenzie really does know how to do those facial expressions that get you totally on his side. My Bridget thinks -- based on these facial expressions -- that his teachers probably let him get away with a whole lot of stuff when he was a little boy.) But if you close your eyes and ignore the facial expressions and stay calm for a moment, I would like to point out one thing. It did not take long for our hero to find himself a new girlfriend -- all before even tracking down Barbara and talking with her. I mean -- come on -- the man is a DETECTIVE. Don't tell me he couldn't have found Barbara. He knows Barbara used to be involved with Renee. If I were a detective, I think I'd know where to look first. Come to think of it, maybe this is why Gotham is in such a mess. Do ALL their law enforcement officials have such weak powers of deductive reasoning? That would explain much. No offense Jim, but I don't think you tried all that hard here.

(Now I am going to get "hated on.") ;-)

But -- STOP.

JUST STOP.

There is one little question that would solve this whole conundrum of who is in the right and who is in the wrong and who (if anybody) should be "hated on."

And that is -- WHERE IS THE DAMN ENGAGEMENT RING???

THIS IS THE KEY QUESTION.

If Barbara kept the ring, then we should "hate on" BOTH her and Jim. Because that would mean they are still "technically" engaged. If the lady says, "We need to take a break," AND she keeps the ring, then she really hasn't broken off the engagement and she shouldn't be in anybody else's arms. Period. End of story. ESPECIALLY if her man is on a detective's salary. And if the man has not gotten back the ring, then it is his obligation to track down said ring AND the lady to whom he gave it, requesting (respectfully, of course) some answers as to their relationship status, before he takes up with a beautiful doctor. ESPECIALLY if that man is a detective, who would be logically assumed to possess "detecting" skills.

If -- on the other hand -- Barbara left the ring, along with the "Dear John" letter, for Jim to find, then both are off the hook. The engagement is over, called off, nullified. Period. End of story. And each party is free to be in somebody else's arms. Although -- perhaps -- they might find their new lovers in a way which employs a bit more good, old-fashioned, Italian common sense/suspicion. One thing we know, for sure, is that both Jim and Barbara are lacking competent Italian mothers. We've seen Barbara's mother, of course. And she's obviously NOT Italian. Not at all. If Barbara were my daughter, I would have met her at the door with coffee, cookies, and a good rehab doctor. We haven't seen Jim's mother, but she is -- evidently -- no better than Ben Sherman's. And we all know how that turned out. And if you don't know how that turned out, you'd better go watch "SouthLAnd." Right now.

Because...

"SouthLAnd" forever... ;-)

Sleepless In Austin (Girl Version)

I hope this is not like plagiarizing.

Anyway, a little while back, some dude calling himself "Sleepless In Austin" wrote a blog post in which he chronicled all of his requirements for a new girlfriend.  My guess is that he is probably still single.  The ways of love, though, are hard to figure out -- so, you never know.  I mean, sometimes a guy who you think for sure would have gotten married by now is still totally girlfriendless, while another guy -- who you think that no self-respecting female would touch with the proverbial 10-foot pole -- is honeymooning in Hawaii with his model wife.  But, I digress.

The point is that this insomniac Austinite made me laugh so hard with his post that I thought I'd spoof it.  I know you're probably not supposed to tell people that you're spoofing something, but being that I'm married and all, I just wanted to make everything perfectly clear.  This is a joke.  It is humor.  It is just for fun.  Fun for me, anyhow.

***So, I give you ---> Sleepless In Austin (Girl Version), A.K.A. Sleepless In Southern California:

I like to be with a man.  This much is true.  I don't like to be alone.  I'm not very good at it.  I like all the things about being with a man.  I like eating and going for drives, although not in immediate sequence, because then I get car sick.  I also don't like eating sushi with a guy.  Well, maybe I do like eating sushi with a guy, but I just don't know it.  The thing is that I have a biology degree, so when I think about sushi, I just think about parasites.  So, forget sushi.  Sushi is a deal-breaker.  The only way that sushi would not be a deal-breaker is if you are Ben Sherman and you bring your gun on our date and give me plenty of saki and do all the driving, because I don't want to be arrested for drunk driving on our date.  Getting arrested on our date would be a deal-breaker.  Unless you bailed me out of jail.  Or broke me out.  Breaking me out of jail would definitely make up for the getting arrested part.  Although, then I would have a hang-over and having a hang-over would probably cause me to throw up in your car, so I should probably just stick with sushi being a deal-breaker.  Besides, Ben Sherman is fictional, so there's that.

I do like being with a man, though.  Besides eating and going for drives, I like hiking.  But, not if it's too hot and not if the surroundings are too dry-looking, because that is just depressing.  I like going to the beach, but only if the man does not complain about the sun and getting burned.  A man who fusses about getting skin cancer is a deal-breaker.  I mean, go ahead and put on your sunscreen, but for heaven's sake don't fuss about it like a girl.  BE A FREAKING MAN about the sun.  I also like watching sports with an enthusiastic man, but not if he talks about a particular game for DAYS ON END afterwards.  When the game is over, it's over.  Get over it already.  My favorite sport to watch is swimming.  I realize most men aren't into that, but if you expect me to watch your football, you can watch my swimming.  And when my favorite sport is on, you get to make the snacks.  When your favorite sport is on, I'll make the snacks.  Fair is fair.  But, don't try feeding me any of those wasabi peas.  Wasabi peas are a deal-breaker.  And if you EVER make fun of my favorite beer being Bud Light, that is a deal-breaker.  Besides, Bud Light puts me in a romantic mood because it's just enough alcohol and not too filling.  So, you should be grateful that Bud Light is my favorite beer, because I can be very sexy.

As far as sex goes, I like it.  But, you'd better not be all pushy about it.  Being pushy about sex is a deal-breaker.  Hey, I'm not saying you shouldn't try to get me interested, but being pushy is the biggest turn-off in the world.  I also like hand-holding and kissing.  But, I do not like being slobbered on.  Being slobbered on is a deal-breaker.  I was once slobbered on by one of the hottest guys ever to be seen on the face of this good earth, but all the long wavy blonde hair and muscles and golden skin couldn't make up for the slobber, so that was that.  He called me for weeks, but it was to no avail.  So, guys, do yourselves a favor and learn to kiss without slobbering.  THINK about kissing before you actually try to land one, for pete's sake.  Watch some movies and TV shows that contain good kissing and study the techniques.  Practice on your arm.  Whatever it takes.  Do not show up on a date as a novice kisser.  And if you are a novice kisser, keep your tongue in your mouth while you practice your lip work.  Same goes for actual sex.  Study up before actually trying it out.  And I am NOT talking about porn.  Some women may disagree, but porn moves are not what most of us ladies want.  If you want to know what most of us ladies want, go read some of those bodice-ripper novels that can be found in the back of your grandma's closet.  Your grandma ain't no fool. 

Tattoos and piercings.  Talking about sex makes me think of tattoos and piercings.  Because I think tattoos are rather sexy, but there are some conditions.  For instance, you should not appear to be clothed in them.  That is a deal-breaker.  If you are naked, people should be able to tell that you are naked.  If you are naked and I can't tell because of all your tats, that is a deal-breaker.  Also -- tattoos on your arms are only sexy if you have sexy arm muscles to go with them.  Like Cam Gigandet.  (Google it, boot.)  So, if you're going to have tats and you don't want it to be a deal-breaker, then lift some weights.  At least four times a week.  As for piercings, I don't mind them in the ear.  But, the naval or the nipple or the nose or the lip?  Deal-breaker.  I have to admit, whenever I see someone with a nipple ring, I have this perverted inclination to yank on it.  YUCK!!!  That is SO PERVERTED!!!  But, it's true.  I probably wouldn't actually do it, but you never know what might happen in the heat of passion.  So, if you have a nipple ring, either remove it or stay the hell away from me, if you have any sense of self-preservation.

Hygiene.  Talking about yanking on nipple rings naturally makes me think of infections which naturally makes me think about hygiene.  Hygiene matters.  Even if you can totally rock a silk shirt, it don't matter if you don't shower.  And use deodorant.  And brush your teeth.  And floss.  And SHAVE.  For god's sake, what is it with all this neck stubble I see these days?  Either shave or grow a beard.  A REAL beard.  Like the kind Commander Ryker sported in "The Next Generation."  I mean, these days I'm seeing all these guys -- even hot guys -- walking around with all this stubble on their cheeks and chins and necks.  What gives?  All this does is show true laziness of character or a real misperception of what is attractive or an actual effort to appear less attractive.  I guess if you are a hot celebrity man who is chased about by young females, then maybe there is an appeal to trying to make yourself less attractive by sporting week-old neck hair growth.  But, if you wear Ray-Ban aviators along with the neck hair, you are just sending mixed messages about your desire to appear desirable.  So, in the interest of transparency of intention, which is only common decency, either shave and wear your Ray-Ban aviators -- or -- grow a real beard and wear your Ray-Ban aviators -- or -- sport your neck hair in combination with a pair of cheap Walmart-brand sunglasses.  Also, if you grow a beard, COMB IT.  Not combing your beard causes little beard hairs to fall out onto the kitchen counters.  Do you know what this looks like?  It looks like there are pubic hairs all over the kitchen counters.  And pubic hairs (even the appearance thereof) on my kitchen counters is a DEAL-BREAKER!!!

Lest I am sounding shallow by talking about such things as sex and tats and piercings and facial hair and hygiene, I do want to assure you that I am interested in personality.  There are all types of personalities that I like.  Many kinds of people are interesting to me.  But, it is good if you know how to string words together in a way that makes at least some kind of sense.  In other words, don't be a Tea Party Republican.  You can be a Republican.  That's okay.  But, be a NORMAL Republican (does anybody out there remember what that means???).  You can be a Democrat, too.  Democrats are cool.  I especially like Democrat men in ponytails and jeans.  Communists can be especially sexy, although I would argue a lot with a Communist, since I actually am a Republican.  So, if you are a Communist, that might not be a total deal-breaker, as long as you like to argue and you have at least some sense of humor.  And long, wavy hair.  A Democrat or a Communist might be able to get away with sporting some neck stubble, too -- as long as he also has a good body and intense, thoughtful eyes.  Please don't think that I'm saying here that a Democrat and a Communist are in any way the same thing.  I know that they are not the same thing.  I mean -- for land's sake -- I'm NOT Rush Limbaugh.  It's just that Democrats and Communists have this sort of sexy earthiness about them that Republicans just can't manage to pull off.  And if you are a non-Tea-Party Republican who wants to date me, do NOT try to pull off a pony tail.  Because everybody knows that Republican males cannot pull off pony tails.  But, also try to avoid looking totally stuffy.  An ideal Republican man has an excellent upper body and knows how to rock the following look --> dress shirt, open collar, no tie.  An ideal Republican male also shamelessly drives a totally spotless, big, bad-ass, carbon producing car, recognizing its value as the perfect place to make out with a woman.  But, if you are a Republican, you must also have a good sense of humor about the liberal, hippie, wanna-be cage dancer side of my personality.  If you don't have a good sense of humor about this, and if you cannot tolerate my opinion that there should be a single-payer national healthcare system, then you are not for me.

And -- reflecting on the value of a sense of humor -- you should definitely have one.  Because, hey, life's short.  And because penis jokes are funny.  (But, only if told by somebody with skill in telling penis jokes.  If you don't have the gift, don't tell penis jokes.  Telling penis jokes without skill is a deal-breaker.)  You need to be able to laugh, though -- at life, at yourself, at me, and at the Tea Partiers.  ;-)



 

Ben Sherman's Healthiest "Relationship"...

...with a woman was what he had goin' on with Chickie.

And it had nothing to do with sex or "romance."

And it had everything to do with genuine affection, mutual respect, caring, trust, real friendship, camaraderie, and even a tad bit of actual communication. 

If you don't know this by now (and you should if you have read my blog for a while), Ben Sherman is one of the main cop characters on the wondrous TV show "SouthLAnd."  "SouthLAnd" is my favorite TV show of all time -- the best show since "Dragnet," "Adam 12," and "Emergency" ruled the airwaves of my childhood.  Unfortunately, it was canceled this past spring, after five glorious seasons.  But, it will live forever in my iPad, in my computer, and on my DVD player.  Ben Sherman is played by Ben McKenzie, and nobody could have played the guy better.  Ben Sherman starts out as a young, idealistic, naive cop, who, because of a combination of character flaws and painful circumstances, slides steadily down into one of the Seven Circles Of Hell over the course of the show.  His character arc is brilliant, full of a great number of moral lessons, without being told in an overly moralistic manner.  In fact, the whole thing is often quite entertaining to behold.  As we accompany Officer Ben on his journey, he has many "lady friends" -- kind of like Bond girls.  And he often has more than one "lady friend" at a time.  In fact, part of Officer Ben's undoing occurs when one of these "lady friends" turns out to be a little bit mentally unstable.  This darling, yet problematic, young woman becomes rather unglued when she finds out she isn't the only one Officer Ben is "seeing" (to state it in a polite manner).  Although, other of his "lady friends" seem happy to share him (literally).  Anyway, Officer Ben never develops what one would consider to be a "healthy" relationship with one of his "lady friends."  He never becomes a faithful boyfriend to a good woman.  He basically bounces from bed to bed, sometimes landing in more than one during a 24-hour period.  His relationships with women never really encompass true love or any kind of commitment or even genuine friendship (as in the kind of friendship where you care about the WHOLE person -- spiritually, mentally, and physically).  There is, though, a gal he likes a lot during Season One.  Her name is Daisy.  But, she dumps him unceremoniously for an ex-boyfriend.  Personally, I think this heartbreak is, at least in part, responsible for his ethical demise.  

There is one woman, though, with whom Officer Ben actually develops an admirable relationship.  This woman is Chickie.  She is a fellow cop, and she is a bit older than Officer Ben.  She is quite beautiful, extremely in-shape, and totally kick-ass.  She is also very feminine, and has vulnerabilities and heartaches which affect both her work and personal life.  She is a single mother, and does not seem to date, putting her son above her own desires.  So, because of her age and life situation, she is in no way available to Officer Ben as a "romantic" partner.  Thence, she is available to him as an actual friend and comrade.  Officer Ben and Chickie meet, I believe, on his first day on the job.  She observes him taking his first cop "baby steps."  She observes his triumphs and his struggles.  And she offers him support, encouragement, and praise (where praise is warranted).  She also stays his hand occasionally.  For example, when he becomes quite angry with his training officer and another cop, who are "razzing" him, she gets him to back off and encourages him to have a sense of humor about the situation.  Because she is a solid person, because of her experience, because of her respectful and good-natured support of Officer Ben, she comes to gain his respect and trust.  And he gains hers, to a large degree.  Thus, she sometimes will confide in him and share her own insecurities with him.  They are honest with each other.  They are fond of each other.  They treat each other with respect.  They are proud when the other does something well.  And, when it is called for, they gently correct each other.  One of my favorite Ben-Chickie moments is when he is having a "fling" with a lady known in the department as "Red-Head Sally."  Sally, apparently, has had her way with virtually all of the cops in the Hollywood Division.  Officer Ben, however, is unaware of this little fact when this wild lady initially lures him into her lair.  Thus, he is heavily teased by the other cops and regaled with their "Sally stories."  Chickie doesn't cut him any slack, either, calling him "Romeo" and affectionately ribbing him about the situation.  She also lets him know that Sally once tried to talk her into a "threesome."  You should see the look on his face when she asks him if Sally still has the poster of Clint Eastwood on her wall. 

So, as I see it, Chickie basically gets the best there is to have of Officer Ben.  And he, in her, has his best relationship with a woman over the whole course of the "SouthLAnd" story.  No, Chickie never partakes of Officer Ben's legendary abilities in the bedroom, but she gets something better.  She is the recipient of his respect and authentic friendship.  And Officer Ben, from Chickie, receives the most valuable gifts a woman can bestow on a man -- her affection, her care and concern, and her trust.

Watching TV With Your Teens And Young Adult Kids -- A Few More Thoughts

Yesterday, I used "The O.C." as an example of how I watch TV with my kids, who are now 24 (almost 25), 23, and 21 years old.  The older two are girls.  The youngest is a boy.

I tend to get along pretty well with my kids.  Sometimes, they think I am too strict.  Sometimes, I think they are too strict.  Don't go thinking that they don't get on me about stuff.  Like, for instance, my cage dancing fantasy.

But, anyway.

When I spoke about watching "The O.C." with my children, I related how I used the characters and happenings in the show as "teachable moments."  We would discuss issues the show presented and how the characters handled various situations they encountered.  I hoped that these discussions would help my kids to become a little wiser about the ways of the world.

As I thought more about my blog post, I realized I kind of made it sound like I'm always and everywhere trying to teach my kids valuable lessons when we watch TV and movies.  Frankly, if that were the case, I don't think my kids would want to watch ANYTHING with me, at all.  I would just be a ball and chain around their entertainment-loving young selves.

So, I guess, most of the time, I just sit with my kids and we enjoy television shows and movies together.  No comments, no judging, no discussion.  Just fun and genuine, spur-of-the-moment reactions to the stories being told.  Maybe some snacks thrown in.  I mean, after all, my kids are older now.  If they don't know the values I wanted them to grow up with by this time, I have pretty much failed.  Although, I also took this more silent approach -- at least most of the time -- when they were teenagers.  And I think it has value.

Why do I think it has value?

People are a generally rebellious lot.  We don't like to get told what to do so very much.  We like to make up our own minds.  And, frankly, most kids know what their parents' opinions are by the time they are teenagers.  That's why, when you see them rebelling, they are doing the opposite of what their parents would suggest.  They have obviously figured out their parents way of thinking.  And they are testing that way of thinking.

As you may know by now (ha-ha), I am a rather rebellious person.  But -- and this may surprise you -- I never engaged in any so-called "high-risk" behaviors as a teen or young adult.  Why?  Certainly not because of my own common sense.  I attribute this to my parents -- especially my dad -- who knew how to tread gently.  He knew not to back me into a corner.  This doesn't mean we didn't have some pretty "spirited discussions" -- a.k.a. "fights."  But, in the end, my dad would look at me calmly and say, "Well, it's your life.  Do what you want."  Then, most of the time, whatever common sense I did possess would kick in and I would realize that I didn't want to do whatever that lame-ass thing was that I had been so vehemently demanding to do a few minutes before.  Why didn't I want to do it?  Because there was no more contest of wills going on.  I didn't have to do that lame-ass thing in order to prove to my father that I couldn't be forced into things, by him or anyone else.

And that brings me back to the idea of just watching TV shows and movies with my kids with no commentary, simply with the goal of enjoying (or, perhaps, being shocked or terrified by) a story.  Especially if it is a television program or movie of their choosing.  I'm not going to turn this form of entertainment into an opportunity for rebellion.  I am, rather, going to use it as an opportunity for bonding.  After all, having a good time together watching Sammy and Ben run around is one ingredient that can lead to a very positive mother-daughter relationship.  At least, in my experience.  SouthLAnd.  Forever. ;-)

Disclaimer:  I am assuming, of course, that your kids aren't bringing home "films" from the Adult Store.  That is a whole different issue.

Ben Sherman -- The Daddy

Ten years ago today we were married, Ashaki and I.  She was well-prepared -- in upbringing and temperament -- for this state.  Me?  Not so much.  "But," she says, teasingly, "I have taught you well, my Benjamin."  And she has, and so have they.  Who are "they?"  My children -- all three of them, with the fourth due any day now.  Ashaki and my daughters have taught me how to be a husband, how to be a father.  Although, they have not always had it easy.  I can be selfish.  I can be moody.  I can hold grudges.  But, little by little, maybe I'm changing my ways.  At first, changing my ways was the only way I could survive being a father.  Being a father is a much different kind of a thing than being a husband.  As a husband, you are dealing with another adult -- your wife -- who is (hopefully) somewhat mature and rational, knowing how to give as well as how to take.  But, being a father?  Not much give and take there.  It's pretty much all "give."  Don't get me wrong.  I wouldn't change anything.  Because I recall it most clearly.  Walking with my first little baby, late one night -- as she fussed and fought off sleep -- so that Ashaki could get some much-needed rest, I realized that, for the first time in my life, I felt truly happy.  Exhausted?  Yes.  But, happy. 

It was frightening, that first labor and delivery.  Of course, I was not with my wife.  That is not the custom here.  There was a midwife.  An authentic, medically trained, and certified midwife.  And there were several women from the village by my wife's side, making her comfortable, giving her support.  But, I was terrified, waiting outside with Ashaki's brother and a few of my other male friends.  Some of the older women brought us food and drink, whispered encouraging words to me, reminded me of how strong my wife was (and is), how healthy.  But, still...  If something should happen to her -- or to the baby -- I didn't know how I could survive it.  These people were there for me, though.  They understood how I felt.  And then, at twilight, I heard her cry.  The cry of my first baby girl -- Hadiya, a name which means "gift."  And then I was really frightened.  As much as he had already been subdued, I knew in that moment that the "old Ben" had to die completely.  Because the "old Ben" would totally screw up with this new life -- the new life crying her first (very loud and piercing) cry inside of my home -- and that was just not acceptable.  I could not fuck this fatherhood thing up.

The midwife sent one of the women out to get me after a few moments, and I went in to my wife and new daughter.  Both so beautiful.  Ashaki was smiling at me.  She looked tired, but so content with our little girl at her breast.  We have been blessed that our babies have all nursed well, right from the beginning.  And it always amazes me to see them, only a few moments after being born, snuggling close to my wife and taking nourishment.  Certain American men I have known think that watching their wives nurse their children somehow makes the women seem less attractive.  I could not disagree more.  It is not a sexual thing, this feeding of babies at the breast.  But, as I watch my wife smile and stroke the skin of our children as she holds them close and nurses them, well...  She never looks more breathtaking to me as she does in those moments.

And now I have three daughters -- 9, 6, and 2 years old -- and a new babe on the way.  Boy or girl?  I don't know.  Ashaki still insists on being surprised.  And I must admit, it is kind of fun, waiting for that "big announcement" to come from the very private and well-shaded back portion of my home.  Has it become less scary to me, as I wait while my wife goes through the birthing process.  Not exactly.  Ashaki trusts God.  I trust Ashaki, and I try to trust God. 

What kind of a father am I?  Probably far from perfect.  I do love it, though.  Teaching my girls, playing with them.  I even love holding my babies, bathing them, changing their diapers.  I had no idea I would enjoy my babies so much.  Of course, I knew I would help Ashaki.  I didn't want to be one of those "cave men," refusing to assist with the multitude of chores associated with infants.  I was determined to pitch in.  But, what I didn't anticipate was loving it so much, loving them so much -- those tiny babies.  My favorite thing?  Late at night, after Ashaki has finished feeding the little one, she lays the babe on top of my chest and we sleep that way -- my child and I.  Feeling that warm weight on top of me, breathing as I breathe, there is nothing like that in all the world.

So, when Ashaki tells me that she is "ready for another," maybe I do feel a little bit terrified.  After all, I had never envisioned myself with more than two children.  But, I also feel more than a bit excited.  Yes, there are those times...  The times when everybody comes down with the stomach flu simultaneously, or when everybody is just tired and cranky at the end of a long day...  I mean, life isn't a fairy tale -- for anybody.

But, when I think of where I was all those years ago, at the end of my less-than-praiseworthy LAPD "career," I am just grateful to be loved and to love.  When I think of how things could have turned out for me, when I think of what I actually deserved (and maybe still deserve), I tremble inside.  And so the hardest things about my family life?  I just count them as joy.  Well... I count them as joy after I get over being tired and cranky from cleaning all the vomit up.

Maybe you are wondering if I ever speak to anybody from my old life, my LAPD days.  No, I don't.  Although, I did speak with Sammy once.  It was a few months after Hadiya was born.  As I rocked her one morning while Ashaki bathed, I started thinking about little Nate.  I was his "Uncle Ben."  And I was suddenly and overwhelmingly ashamed at the danger I had exposed him to when I had Chris stage the break-in at Sammy's.  Of course, I didn't realize Chris would actually encounter Nate and the sitter.  But, I knew things could go awry with my plan.  Of course, I knew.  But, I was willing to risk it for my own damned self-interest.  And that's what it was -- my own selfish interests.  My plan had nothing to do with caring about Sammy.  It was all about protecting myself, my reputation, my career.  And I had put a small child in danger.  A child I supposedly loved.  A child who trusted me.  And when I looked at Hadiya resting in my arms, looking up at me with those big, hazel eyes (all of my daughters have gorgeous hazel eyes, rich chocolate skin, and wavy ebony hair), I knew that if Sammy were to do to me what I did to him?  I would have wanted to kill him.  Literally.  And in that moment, looking into the eyes of my daughter, thinking of the danger I had placed Sammy's son in, I loathed myself.  So, I called him.  I didn't know if he would accept my call, but he did.  And I apologized -- an apology that, if I had been in Sammy's position, would have been much too little, way too late.  But Sammy, being Sammy, actually listened.  He listened while I told him about Ashaki and Hadiya and being a father.  He listened to me tell him, rather lamely and awkwardly, how sorry I was, how I finally "got it."  And Sammy, being Sammy, actually forgave me.  "I don't deserve your forgiveness," I told him.  "No, you don't," he answered. "But, I'm fucking giving it to you, anyway, you fucker."  And then he actually laughed and told me about Nate -- and about his second wife and their small daughter.  And he told me that sometimes "the job" -- that whole cop thing -- was too much for some guys.  He told me that, for some guys, being a cop is like being caught in a whirlpool that sucks you in and then spits out your lifeless body.  He told me that I was one of those guys, and that he was glad I got out of the whirlpool before it killed me.  He also told me I should never come back.  I didn't argue. 

*******

"Benjamin," she whispers to me in the night, just after I return to bed after getting a thirsty little girl a drink of water, "it is time."

So, I go to wake the midwife, and I fear once again for my beautiful woman and the child who is preparing to make his (or her) entrance into this lovely, though troubled, world.  And I wonder if we will have a little boy this time.  As I wonder, though, I realize that it doesn't really matter to me whether we are given a baby boy or another little girl.  And -- in this realization -- I surprise myself, once again.

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part 9

It is amazing to me, and it will always be amazing to me, that Ashaki loves me even with all the dark secrets of my past exposed to her.  She does not flinch even when I express to her the inner conflict I feel about many things.  She does not shy away when I tell her that I have trouble "repenting" of some of my actions -- actions that most people would say were terribly wrong.  I think about situations I was in, relationships I had, and I still can't always see clearly.  I still can't say that I know I should have done "x" instead of "y."  Sometimes there are shadows when I reflect on my past -- shades of grey more than black and white.  I struggle with sorting and sifting the "right" from the "wrong."  I wonder if there even is a "right" answer to certain things.  Is there a moral absolute?  And, if there is a moral absolute, what is it and have I violated it?  I struggle with my conscience.  And I don't know if -- when I want to defend myself and what I have done -- it is out of a knowledge that I have acted correctly, or if I am simply avoiding the pain it would cause me to admit that I have acted in hurtful and selfish ways.

When I confess these things to Ashaki -- these deep, inner thoughts and movements of my soul -- she does not judge me.  She listens.  She holds me close.  And she quietly says, "You are good.  Your struggles show me that you are good.  Evil people do not struggle with themselves.  And trust that you are loved.  Trust in my love.  Love gives us the strength to face ourselves, because love assures us that we will be held close.  That we will not be rejected.  But, you must be patient with yourself.  You must allow yourself to struggle.  In the end, your struggle -- if it is an honest one -- will bring you clarity and peace."

So, with my secrets being secrets no more to this beautiful woman, she truly became MY beautiful woman -- my Ashaki, my wife.  And I became her husband.  We were married in the midst of her people -- our people -- one beautiful morning.  There was much laughter and food, music and dancing.  And the fact that I was this white guy?  Well, there was some eyebrow raising.  But, I have found that most people -- when the proverbial rubber hits the proverbial road -- want their children, their loved ones, and their friends to be happy, to be with a person who truly loves them.  And it was clear that Ashaki and I loved each other.  In my own heart, I was rather taken aback at the thought that I could love a woman as I love Ashaki.  I didn't think I had it in me to really want to spend my whole life with one person.  I never thought I could enter a marriage actually having confidence that it could last "'til death do us part."  Who believes that, anymore?  I mean, yes, you say it -- because that's what you're supposed to say.   But, I always figured that in the back of my mind there would be the thought that it might not actually work out.  Surprisingly, though, that thought was not in the back of my mind -- or in any other part of my mind.  I found that when I made my vows to my Ashaki, looking into her smiling eyes and her trusting face, I actually meant them -- every word of them.

I am sure that you will now all imagine that our lovemaking that night was perfect -- full of passion.  Well, if it was, it almost wasn't.  And that was my fault.  I can still be an idiot.  As my sweet new wife and I prepared for bed, she noticed the box of condoms I had placed by my pillow.  And tears filled her eyes.  We had talked about children.  As I said, Ashaki would often teasingly tell me that she hoped for four or five.  Now, though, I realized that she was not teasing.  Yes, she would say it in a playful manner, but she actually meant it.  I had also assumed that we would wait for a little while -- like maybe a year or so -- before actually "trying for a baby."  Well, Ashaki had not assumed this.  She had assumed the opposite.  Can you even believe it?  With all the things we were careful to talk about before our wedding, we had somehow neglected to talk about when we would start a family. 

"Why don't you want a baby now?" she asked me, the tears running down her cheeks.  "We love each other.  We are married.  We have a home.  What else do we need?  And I am young -- healthy and strong and fertile.  It is the perfect time.  What if we wait and something happens?  What if we wait and it ends up that I can't get pregnant easily?"

I looked at this lovely creature who was now my wife, and I could not refuse her.  I didn't want to refuse her.  I didn't really understand it -- this deep and unrelenting desire for a child -- but, I realized I didn't have to understand it.  Her desire was a fact.  So, I tossed the condoms in the trash and took my now giggling wife into my arms -- took her to me.  And she took me to her.  And we were together -- perfectly, happily, joyfully together.  For the first time, I actually made love.  I had fucked a lot of women, hooked up with others.  But, I had never made love to anybody before making love to my Ashaki.  And, in making love to her, I finally realized how you can be an 80-year-old man making love to your 80-year-old wife and still find the whole thing to be quite satisfying.

Now you know the story of how I came to be lying here in the hot, still darkness -- next to this beautiful woman who is mine.  This woman heavy with our child.  And I am happy -- and I am scared.  Will I be a good father?  Do I know how to be a good father?  Ashaki believes I will be.  I cannot let her down.  I refuse to let her down.  And so I breathe and I touch her softness and I wait for our baby to come...



  

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part 8

There is a part of me that is actually quite silly.  A part I had almost forgotten about.  It used to come out often, when I was younger -- in high school and college.  Even when Sammy and I were partners, before all the shit hit the fan, the fun side of me used to surface.  Filling Sammy's car with birds -- now that was one for the record.  Or duct taping his locker closed when he was in the shower, just a few minutes before roll call.  Priceless.  And I used to enjoy using my ability with a variety of amusing facial expressions and "cartoon character voices" to entertain friends and acquaintances quite often, back in the "old days." 

As I spent more time with Ashaki, this silly part of my began to re-emerge.  I could have her literally doubled over in laughter if I raised my eyebrows in a certain way or talked in what I call my "scooby-doo" voice.  And I can't lie.  It pleased me to no end to be able to make her smile and laugh with what seemed like very little effort.  And her smile and her laughter caused me to smile and laugh, in turn.

Time went on.  Ashaki and I spent as much time together as possible, though in socially acceptable ways.  Her family would have me over for meals quite often.  And then she and I would walk together at sunset, across the little valley and over the small hills, talking of many things -- our educations, literature, music, art, politics, religion, philosophy.  Did we agree on everything?  Most definitely not.  As I mentioned before, Ashaki has a strong faith in God.  In a God who actually loves us.  I have a harder time with that.  Also, she finds modern art "irksome" and "hard on the nervous system."  I, on the other hand, have a storage unit full of the stuff back in L.A. (My modern art collection is the one thing that I did not dispose of before coming to Africa.  Well, along with the pills.  The pills that I now knew I would never use.)  Ashaki told me, grinning mischievously, "We will have to make a bonfire of that 'art' of yours, if we ever have the opportunity."  Often, we would not be alone on our walks.  The children and young people of the village frequently accompanied us.  And the teenagers enjoyed joining our conversations, and we enjoyed their input.  I did not feel as though my time with Ashaki was intruded upon by the "company" we had on our evening sojourns.  I reveled in the presence of all these people.  And seeing Ashaki with them only made me come to appreciate her more.  I was falling in love with her, though I didn't want to admit it to myself.

Why didn't I want to admit it to myself?  If I admitted it to myself, I would have had to think about the dreaded "m" word -- marriage.  There was no way Ashaki and I could live together without being married, not in this place.  And neither of us wanted to leave this place.  Also, to tell you the truth, I don't think she would have consented to that arrangement, anyway.  Not that she was a prude, or anything.  She was raised for a good part of her life in England.  She had gone to university there.  She was a beautiful woman.  There had been men.  She never really spoke of them, but I knew there had been boyfriends.  In her move back to her homeland, though, in the way she valued the traditional culture of her people, I knew where her heart really stood.  She was the kind of woman who would want commitment -- as in the dreaded "m" word -- before moving in with a man.   She also wanted children.  She didn't speak of it that often, probably because she didn't want to scare me off, but she would occasionally mention her desire for children.  Four or five of them, she would teasingly say, with a rather whistful look in her eye.  And I would watch her cuddle the babies of the village.  I would watch her chase the toddlers.  And I knew she wanted little ones of her own.  And I knew she would be a beautiful mother.  The best kind of mother.  But, I wasn't convinced I could be any kind of a good father.  I mean, I loved our students.  I loved the children of my new home.  But, that was a completely different thing than having my own kids.  The thought of having my own kids, my own wife, my own family?  Well, the idea of those things pretty much completely freaked me out.

So, I just avoided thinking about the future.  I also avoided thinking about sex.  When it got difficult to avoid thinking about sex, I would go for a good 5-mile run in the heat.  That would solve my problem, at least for a little while.  I just struggled to stay in the present.  I just tried to enjoy being with Ashaki without having a physical relationship, without thinking about the dreaded "m" word.  And I was fairly successful.

Until...

Until I was given a little "talking to" one day by Ashaki's brother.  This young man was not quite as bright as his sister, but he was pretty smart.  And his English was very good, as he had spent a lot of time with some missionary priests as he was growing up.

He asked me if I wanted to have a beer.  Yes, there was beer.  Courtesy of some friends of Ashaki, who sent it over from Europe on a regular basis.  It was late afternoon on a day when school wasn't in session.  We sat in the shade and "chewed the fat" for a while.  And then he dropped it on me.  The bomb.  "You know she cries every night," he told me.  "She's been crying every night for at least a month."

"What?  Who cries?" I asked him, rather taken aback.

"Ashaki," he answered.  And he looked at me carefully, and then he continued.  "Finally, I asked her what was wrong.  At first, I tried to leave her be.  Thought it was a passing thing.  You know how women are.  But, it did not pass.  So, I went and spoke to her one night, as she was crying.  I asked her to tell me the cause of her sadness.  She didn't want to, but I persisted.  Got the truth out of her.  And the truth, Ben, is that she loves you.  She told me that she thought you loved her, too, but now she's starting to wonder.  Because, basically, you haven't 'made your move.'  You haven't said anything to her about how you feel.  You haven't said if you feel anything at all.  And she doesn't know what to think.  Or do.  And she can't bear the thought of losing you.  So, my man, it's time to 'take a stand,' if you will.  Do you love her, or not?  It's fine if you don't.  My sister deserves the best, deserves someone who truly wants her.  So, if you don't want to be with her, then speak up.  But, if you do love her, it's time to say it.  And, frankly, you've had plenty of time to make up your mind."

"I do love her," I told him, my voice barely above a whisper.  "More than anything.  More than anybody.  But, you know man, there are things.  Things about myself, my past.  If she really knew everything about me, everything there is to know...  Well, I don't know if she'd love me so much, anymore.  She loves the "me" that she has gotten to know here.  She didn't know me before.  She doesn't know what I was like.  She doesn't know what I'm capable of -- the bad things, the evil things I've done.  The things I did when I was a cop.  The things I rationalized."

"If she knew those things and still loved you, what would you want?" Ashaki's brother gently prodded.

I didn't answer immediately.  I couldn't imagine somebody knowing my past -- really knowing it -- and still loving me, still wanting to be my wife.  So, I didn't quite know what to say.  After a few moments, though, I replied, "If she still loved me, then I would want her to be with me always.  I would want to marry her.  But, I'm scared to tell her.  I'm scared to lose -- not only her -- but everything beautiful that my life has come to hold here."

"You need to talk to her, Ben," the brother of the woman I love said to me quietly.  "You need to trust her.  You CAN trust her.  This I know."

After a rather sleepless night, I walked -- rather slowly -- to Ashaki's home in the early morning sunlight.  She was standing in the doorway when I got there.  Perhaps she had been expecting me?  And she looked so strong, and yet so vulnerable, as she gazed up at me with those eyes.  Those eyes which seemed to hold an infinity in their dark depths.  I hoped the infinity they held would be one of happiness -- for both of us.

And so we talked.  And, between this woman and I, there were no more secrets...

To be continued...

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part 7

Ashaki quickly became an invaluable member of the team in our little one-room schoolhouse.  Her naturally joyful nature and quick sense of humor offset my more melancholy tendencies.  Although, I have to say that being in Africa, doing this new work, was slowly transforming my disposition into a more upbeat one.  I had always thought I naturally tended towards negativity.  But, maybe I was wrong about that.  Maybe I just needed to be around different kinds of people, in a different kind of environment, in order for my optimistic side to surface.  In any case, working alongside George and Ashaki -- teaching our enthusiastic young students -- brought a lightness to my heart and my outward manner that was new to me.

And this woman was so lovely, just being in her presence made me happy.  It was a new thing, too, being around a beautiful woman and not trying to get her into the sack with me.  As I said before, George had warned me sternly to "keep it zipped."  And that admonition applied to my relationship with Ashaki, as well as to all the other women among whom I was now living.  For even though Ashaki was my peer -- as a fellow teacher -- she was also a member of the country and culture in which I was a guest.  If she were to be caught in my bed, well...  The ramifications would not be very pleasant, for either of us.  Her culture, after all, was fairly traditional.  A local woman sleeping with a visiting American guy would have been unfairly and negatively labeled.  And the visiting American guy would no longer be very welcome.  The thought of being unwelcome in my new home was incentive enough for me to behave myself.  I loved this place, these people.  Having to leave them -- especially in disgrace -- would have broken my heart more than anything had broken it before.  Also, the thought of having Ashaki be treated with even a tiny bit of scorn by anybody was unbearable to me.  This woman was so kind, so gracious, so vibrant.  If her reputation were to be tarnished because of me...  That was unthinkable.

You may be wondering how this woman who became mine was able to become a university graduate, being that she was from the place in which I was now teaching.  A place in which virtually nobody had any type of formal education.  When she was a small child, her parents noticed that she was incredibly gifted.  She was eager and able to learn to read the few books that were in her family home.  She loved working arithmetic problems, and would beg the adults around her to indulge her in this pleasure.  So her parents, wanting what all parents want -- the best for their child -- made a great personal sacrifice and sent their daughter to a relative's home in England, as soon as she was old enough to make such a journey.  In England, Ashaki received a fine education.  And, thankfully, she was able to return home for many vacations.  Thus, she retained a strong identity as a member of her own country and culture -- an identity which led her to want to return to her homeland permanently when she completed her formal education.  Yes, Ashaki had no desire to ever leave the home of her childhood again.  She had a great love for her people and culture.  She still does.  She always will. 

So I found myself, for the first time in many years, becoming an actual friend to a woman I could not bed.  We spent a lot of time together, making excuses to stay in our little schoolhouse far later each day than what was actually necessary to prepare our lessons.  But, we were also careful to avoid causing any kind of gossip or "eyebrow raising" amongst the people.  Although, I'm sure many of them knew something was up.  As long as I behaved honorably, though, people were tolerant of my friendship with this "sister" of theirs.  And so we grew closer -- Ashaki and I.

To be continued...

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part 6

 ** For those of you who may be new to this blog and/or story, I am a great fan of the TV show "SouthLAnd" -- a show which was not renewed for a sixth season (boo-hoo).  The main characters of that show were left in a variety of states -- some good, some not-so-good.  And I started to wonder -- as did other fans -- what would have become of Officer Ben Sherman (played by Ben McKenzie) if the series had been allowed to continue.  After all, the series finale left him lying on the ground in seeming moral defeat.  So, I decided to let my imagination run a little wild, and I have been having a lot of fun coming up with a continuing story for Officer Ben.  It's probably a little cheesy, but I'm enjoying myself here. ;-) **

School had been in session for a little less than a month.  I was happier than I had ever been.  The kids were doing well, and were more enthused than any kids I had ever been in a classroom with during my childhood.  They actually seemed to enjoy learning the alphabet, learning how to put letters together into the words of a new language.  Using pictures -- and, of course, George's knowledge of the native tongue -- we taught them English a little at a time.  English that could actually be useful.  I remember learning Spanish back in high school.  I knew how to say "the lady has blue hair" before I could have asked somebody where to find a restroom.  I was happy that George's nonprofit was taking a this approach.  We were teaching our students how to apply what they were learning in practical ways.  I have often thought that if American kids could make a connection between their educations and their actual lives, the "system" would be more effective.  Here -- in a land far away from that in which I was born -- I was seeing the fruits of such a learning environment.

So, yes, we did a lot of the so-called "three R's" with our kids -- reading, writing, arithmetic.  But, there was also ample time for art, music, physical activity.  We didn't have fancy "equipment" for these subjects, but George's group provided good, basic materials.  And the kids themselves often brought musical instruments and art supplies from home.  We were, after all, living  in the midst of a culture where these things are valued.  We taught our students about the history of their nation.  We studied their culture.  And when I say "we" studied -- well, that's exactly what I mean.  I had as much learning to do as they.  But, as many seasoned teachers have said, "You've just got to stay one chapter ahead."  Not that we really had textbooks, to speak of.  There were a few of those.  Mostly, though, a generous number of seemingly random books were provided by George's organization.  Books that covered a variety of subjects.  I found, though, that when I put together my own ideas with the ideas and knowledge I found in these books, I could come up with some pretty creative lesson plans. 

So, as I said, I was feeling happy.  There were still nightmares and self-doubt.  Hell, there still are.  But, the tangle of negative emotions in my heart was starting to loosen a little.  And in the midst of this -- on one hot afternoon as I was trying to explain to my charges why the letters "c" and "h", when put together as "ch", make the unpredictable sound that they do -- I looked up to see a face in the doorway of the little schoolhouse.  A face I had never seen before.  A woman's face.  Young, but somehow ageless.  Breathtaking.  A face the color of chocolate -- chocolate infused with gold dust.  Eyes large and black, but open somehow -- open to life and love and joy.  High cheekbones that somehow managed to exude a pinkish hue, even for being so wonderfully and softly dark.  And that face was smiling at me -- smiling a kind, yet wise and knowing smile.  A smile that belied an understanding and experience of the difficulties and hurts of life.  A smile that also belied a willingness to embrace that life, as hard as it can sometimes be.  And I knew, somehow, that I wanted the life which that smile embraced to embrace me.

Her name was Ashaki -- which means "light".  She certainly became that for me, this woman who became my wife.  She was the aunt of one of my students -- a lively, bright 10-year-old boy.  She had recently graduated from University in England, where she studied linguistics.  Finally -- someone besides George with whom I could easily converse.  Why had she come back here?  Why didn't she stay in England, or even go to America?  She would be welcome in either place, given her intelligence, her education.  She had learned of the school George's nonprofit had started here, in the place of her birth, and she wanted to help out.  That was fine by me.  George was often in demand by the organization -- needed for various administrative decisions and tasks.  That left him with little time for actual hands-on teaching in the school, which meant that I was responsible for most of it.  Therefore, this lovely lady's assistance would be most welcome.  And little did I know, when I first set eyes on her, that she would not only be of utmost value in our little classroom.  She would become of utmost value to me, for the whole of my life.

To be continued...

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part 5

** This is going on much longer than I expected.  But, I'm just having so much fun here!  Thanks to everyone who is reading! **

The first month of my new life was an adjustment, to say the least.  A good one, though.  Pleasant, even.  George and I were given a small home in the village where the new school was located.  Happy people provided us with good, simple food and were eager for our company.  Little children peeked out at us from behind door frames and their mothers' skirts, giggling and ducking when we smiled or waved.  The residents of the village seemed especially amused by me.  In fact, I believe the native word for "ghost" was occasionally -- though fondly -- used to describe me.  Let's face it.  Even for an American, I am rather pale.  But -- I am also quick and athletic -- and the local youngsters were happy to have me join in their games, often playfully arguing about which team would get to have "the ghost" as a member.  The male residents of the village would point at my biceps and grin, giving me the universally understood "thumbs up" sign, and flexing their own arms in a sign of masculine solidarity.  Occasionally, a bolder girl would squeeze my shoulder and smile becomingly, although any "hanky-panky" was clearly off limits.  And I wanted it that way.  I realized that sex had become less and less of a pleasure for me over the years.  A physical release, yes.  But a growing emotional burden, too.  So, George's admonition to "keep it zipped" was actually quite welcome, believe it or not.

George and I were also quite busy, during the first several weeks of our stay, getting the school ready for its opening.  The structure was intact when we arrived, but painting was required.  The local people wanted bright colors -- red trim and yellow walls for the outside.  For the inside, blues and greens reminiscent of the ocean were chosen.  The ocean which none of these people had actually ever seen, but which was alive in their imaginations.  George's non-profit provided tables and chairs, a chalkboard (including chalk), a modicum of books, writing tablets and pencils. 

The most difficult challenge?  The students in our little one-room schoolhouse would range from 7 to 13 years of age.  There would be twenty of them.  None of them had ever been to a formal school before.  So, we had to carefully plan out how to arrange the school day to accommodate the needs of all these different children who were entrusting their futures to us.  Maybe it sounds like a bit of an exaggeration to say that they were "entrusting their futures to us."  But, in a way, that's what they were doing -- academically, anyhow.  If they were to have any chance of having an advanced education -- of going to secondary school, or even university -- they were relying on George and me to give them the necessary foundation.  As a person who had always taken my own education a little bit for granted, this thought did weigh upon me.  George, though, with his outgoing ways, quick sense of humor, and positive attitude, proved a good counterweight to my more melancholy tendencies.  "Sherman," he would say, smiling good-naturedly, "you think you're making this about them.  But, you're not.  You're making it about you.  You always do.  Your ego is talking here.  Your ego is riding on our success or failure.  If these kids are actually what's important to you, things will snap into perspective.  You'll realize not everything is up to you.  Not everything is under your control.  You do the work.  You do the best you can.  The results are not up to you.  And if we get good results, that's not about you, either.  So, King Ben, climb down off that high-and-mighty little throne of yours and help me set up these tables."  Hell, maybe this little speech of George's is what Sammy was trying to tell me all along.  Maybe it was just a little easier to hear in this environment -- this environment with smiling, laughing kids who just wanted me to play games with them.  This environment where I didn't need handcuffs and a gun to survive.  Fuck that Sammy.  I'm not quite ready to forgive him yet, as willing as he was to throw me under the bus to comfort his own messed up conscience.

Sometimes I think about Sammy.  I think about his little guy, Nate.  I did love Nate.  I was his Uncle Ben.  I loved Sammy, too.  He was my friend.  I would have done anything for him.  Hell, I did do everything for him.  For us.  For our partnership, our careers, our future.  And somehow, everything just got out of control.  I wonder if Sammy hates me.  Some nights I wake up -- hot in my bed, in this land far from everything I've ever known -- and I think about these things.  And I can't breathe.  And then I look at the beautiful woman, full with my babe, lying next to me and I put everything from my old life out of my mind.  I imagine my past as a dark cloud just blowing by me, a cloud which disintegrates into nothingness as it passes.  And then I can breathe again.  And I reach for this woman, for her softness, for her warmth -- and she smiles at me in the darkness, the darkness that is gently lit by the moon and the stars, and she takes me into herself.  Loving me.  Making me realize that nobody has ever loved me before.  Not really.  Making me realize that I have never loved anyone before.  Not really.  Not even Elena.  As I said, I did love Elena.  But it was a selfish, taking kind of a love.  Not like the love I have for this woman who lies next to me now, who will lie next to me every night for the rest of our lives.

You may be wondering how I met this incredible woman who became mine.  When did I first see her, speak with her, know that I loved her?  How did we come to be together?  How did she come to be my wife?

To be continued...

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part 4

I was ready.  I had my pills.  The scotch with which to wash them down.  I had even made sure my "Last Will And Testament" was up-to-date.  After all, I wanted to make sure my sisters got that Trust Fund.  I didn't want it reverting to my son-of-a-bitch father.  And my mother?  She was taken care of financially, so she didn't need my money.  But, Olivia and Chloe?  They could use it.  I just had to make sure that, legally, there was no way that "actor" who married into my family could get his hands on any of it.  I also had all my bills paid.  My checkbook was balanced.  Even my laundry was done.  Everything ready so that my exit would be as painless as possible on everyone involved.

And then that phone call.  It was almost a "movie moment."  "Providence," my beautiful lady said. 

"Hey, Sherman!" said a familiar voice on the other end of the line. "It's George. What's up?"

"Not a whole lot, man." I answered, somewhat impatient to get on with my well-prepared plan, but a bit intrigued, as well.  I hadn't heard from this guy since college.  And he had been a good friend.

"I'm calling to collect on that debt," he replied, a bit of a playful tone in his voice.  George had always been playful.  Somewhat of a joker.  But, he knew when to be serious.  And he was smart as hell.  Magna cum laude smart.

The debt he was referring to?  I had been in an accident my junior year.  Bike versus car.  And I had been on the bike -- not the motorcycle kind, either.  The kind you pedal.  And I had needed some blood, which George very graciously donated to me.  He didn't want me taking chances on the "blood supply."  As safe as the "blood supply" is, George is a skeptical kind of guy.  He wanted 100% assurance that I would be receiving a safe product.  And being that he and I are the same blood type -- a fact we had discovered during a lab activity in a required undergraduate biology course -- he wanted to give me that assurance.  And he had teased me afterwards, when I thanked him.  "Well," he had said, laugh lines crinkling in the corners of his jolly brown eyes, "I look at it this way.  Now you are in my debt.  I think I got the sweet end of the deal."

As I heard George's voice on the phone after all this time, I felt a bit like making my excuses and hanging up on him.  But, he had given me his blood, for Christ's sake.  And he had been a good friend -- always.  A lot of memories of better times arose out of the depths of my mind.  So, I decided to hear him out.

"Ok, George," I said.  "What kind of crazy idea have you cooked up now?"  Because George -- in his "brilliance" -- had always been cooking up some rather crazy idea or another.

That's when he told me about this trip to Africa he was putting together.  George, evidently, had started a bank when he graduated from college.  And the bank had actually succeeded.  The bank became fuckin' PROFITABLE, in this fuckin' economy.  Leave it to old George to pull off a stunt like that.  And so my friend, always one to give it all away -- including his very own blood -- sold every single one of his shares in said financial institution and started a non-profit.  And this non-profit was opening little one-room schoolhouses in the midst of Africa -- the land of his forefathers -- and he wanted me to go over there with him as a teacher.  A fuckin' teacher.

"George," I said.  "I have a job."

"So I've heard, Sherman.  So I've heard.  You're a cop."  He sort of giggle-snorted.  "I have nothin' against cops, man, nothin' at all.  You know that.  But -- Sherman, my man -- you're no cop.  I remember when you were choosing between Teach For America and the Police Academy.  I figured you'd pick the cop gig for the gun and the glory.  You always liked that shit.  But, man, I'm betting you're pretty miserable right about now.  You know why?  Because -- I bet -- you're feeling not so appreciated by those whom you 'serve and protect.'  You always liked to be a little hero-worshipped, man.  Nothing against you.  Just the manly ego thing.  But, I bet you've discovered it by now.  Nobody appreciates cops too much.  Even when they try to 'make a difference,' which is what you always said you wanted to do.  So -- I'm giving you the opportunity, man -- to actually be hero-worshipped.  By a bunch of little kids.  And you know why they'll hero-worship you?  Because they're too fuckin' young to know any better.  Come on, Sherman.  How about it?  And remember -- you owe me.  You don't want my ghost fuckin' haunting you if I die in a plane crash on my way over there.  Because -- yeah -- I'm going over there myself.  And if I die in a plane crash -- you can sure as hell bet I'll be haunting your sorry ass if you renege on your debt.  And, my man, I just wanna see your puny pale self frolicking around over there amonst my beautiful dark-skinned brothers and sisters.  The memory of that sight will keep me entertained all through my old age."

As ridiculous as it sounds, I figured I might as well take George up on his offer.  I packed the pills away in a safe-deposit box.  If things didn't work out, I could still use them.  I resigned from the force, sold my house, gave away my stuff, got some innoculations, and was on a plane with my old friend in six weeks.  I already had a passport, and George's non-profit took care of the rest of the beauracratic nonsense.  I was even given "training" -- if you could call the stack of pamphlets I was given "training" -- in how to teach a bunch of elementary-school-kids a variety of elementary-school-subjects (including English).  I was actually starting to get a little excited. 

And, yes, in the back of my mind was the idea of atonement.  Because, when all was said and done, I knew I had "sinned," if you want to call it that.  And if you don't want to call it that, you can just say that I knew I had fucked up.  Totally.  Yes, I could justify myself, my actions.  Like shooting Ronnie.  He had pimped out his young daughter, pimped out and beaten the girl's mother, come after Sammy.  The guy deserved to die -- needed to die, even -- before he actually killed Sammy or some other innocent person.  But, deep down, I knew the crap that I had done.  I couldn't escape it -- couldn't escape the guilt.  And maybe that guilt, more than anything else, was what made me want to die.  So, perhaps, this trip to Africa -- this new work -- could be a way to atone.  Leave everything behind -- sell everything, give everything away -- and atone.  

To be continued...

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part 3

Do you believe in God? I'm not sure I do. And if there is a God for me to believe in, I'm not quite sure what rendition of that supernatural being I should put my faith in. Does He care? Or did He just start this world a-spinning; and does He just look with amusement upon what we do with it, what we do with each other? Or is God even a He? Could God be a She? Or an It? Or is the universe somehow conscious -- being aware of and impacting us in an active manner? Some people believe that. You know what I don't believe in? Many Gods. They would have just wiped each other out long ago in some great, grand battle -- ending, along with themselves, what they had created. I mean, can creation survive without its Creator? I don't think so. I guess it is easiest -- for me -- to believe in a God people would call "He." Even if He contains female attributes. Logically, He could not create what He does not possess. So, He has to have female characteristics, I guess. If He exists. And it's easier to believe in this kind of God -- for me, anyway -- because He would be a God who could piss you off.  A God you could get angry with -- like your own earthly father.  And, "God knows," I have plenty of experience getting angry with my own earthly father. So, it's easy for me to imagine this kind of a God. A God whom I could call "He." A God who tells you everything He does is for your good, but to whom "your good" seems to involve one hell of a lot of pain. A God who says He loves you and is close to you, even though you feel quite ignored by Him most of the time. So, maybe I do believe in God. But, is He any better than my own biological father? I don't know.

The woman lying next to me, stirring gently, she believes in God. She believes He is good. She believes He brought me to her -- that I am His "gift" to her. Why she would believe that I am a gift, I have no idea. She knows my past, my secrets. For some reason -- that I don't understand at all -- I have always felt compelled to let her in on those things, the things I keep locked away from everyone else. She knows my faults. She knows I lack her kind of faith, and that I probably always will. But, she says I am a "gift." She says that there is within me kindness and gentleness. She believes -- foolishly, in my mind -- that I am good. She tells me that the evil I have done is because the good in me couldn't bear the evil I was seeing -- the evil I was experiencing on a day-to-day basis. Yes, I think she is a rather delusional fool for believing I have any goodness in me. But, I let her love me. I let her love me because it is a love that does not expect anything, that just accepts everything. Her love is my peace. And I can't help loving her back. Loving her and the child. The child who was so unexpected. The child whom I didn't even really want at first. But, she wanted him -- or her. And so it is to be, because I find that I cannot refuse her.

Why do I bring these things up? These things about God and faith and doubt and love? Well, they have to do with why I didn't die. I was determined to die. I had made my preparations. And then I was stopped by a phone call. A phone call from somebody I had not seen in years, or even thought about. The woman who loves me -- she believes it was something she calls "providence." What do I believe? Hell if I know. Hell if I know why God would have waited so long, watching with seeming callousness all of my mistakes, watching me hurt many of His so-called "children" before stepping in. That doesn't make any sense to me. If I were God, I certainly wouldn't have done it that way. If I were God, I would have either stopped me before I could inflict any damage, or I would have let me kill myself. And then I would have sent me to "hell" -- if such a place actually exists. For, if the Judeo-Christian version of God has any truth to it, "hell" is where that particular philosophy certainly would have said I deserved to go.

My beautiful woman -- she talks about "mercy." She says God treated me with "mercy." I have a really hard time believing that. Where is His "mercy" in the middle of urban Los Angeles, I would like to know?

So, back to that phone call...

To be continued...

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part 2

AFRICA, THREE YEARS LATER

It is already hot as the sun rises up over the valley in the middle of this ancient continent.  This ancient continent where families and lives were once ripped apart by those who thought bartering in humans was a God-given right. This ancient continent full of a multiplicity of cultures.  War-ravaged in some places, disease-ridden in others, but full of great beauty and majesty and life.  Life wild and free, alongside life shackled and oppressed.  Great poverty and great riches, sometimes in one place.

She lies next to me -- this woman, my woman -- breathing softly.  Her skin soft and brown and warm.  The dark curls of her hair gently brushing my shoulder.  Her belly swollen with the child.  Breasts full and ready to give milk to a new babe.  Soon he will come.  Or she.  I don't know.  The woman -- the lovely woman whom I love -- doesn't want to know, so the decision is made.   We will be surprised.  Isn't life just one long surprise, anyway?  We plan, God laughs -- isn't that what they say?

Who knew,  almost three years ago, that my life would come to this?   Who knew that my life would come to anything?   Fuck 'em all, I thought to myself back then.  Sammy and Cooper, Brooke -- fuck 'em all.

They were rather awkward, those initial days after my confrontation with Sammy.  I mean, we couldn't work together, anymore.  Not one more day.  Sammy pulled some strings, got us new partners.  Not too many questions were asked.  Hell, I thought.  I'm taking the Detectives' Exam, anyway.  I'll be out of this fuckin' squad car in a few months.  And I should have been.  I got the second highest score ever recorded in the department.  But, the promotion got "held up."  One fuckin' excuse after another.  No one ever said it directly, but I know that fucker Sammy was responsible.  It became clear to me that I was going to be riding in that patrol car forever -- or humpin' the pine.  I had been blackballed -- by the guy who told me that "you always have your partner's back, especially when he's wrong."  That fucker.

And then there was Cooper.  Brought down by his own team, he lived through it all.  But, after all that -- after his own psycho trip -- he still thought he was better than me.  The guy pistol-whips his neighbor, disgraces himself after almost 25 years on the job, and he has the audacity to treat me with disdain when I go visit him.  Maybe I stretched my authority a bit in going after a few bad guys, but they were the BAD GUYS.  Not some Joe Lunch Bucket who couldn't pay his electric bill.

The one bright star amongst all this fucked-up crap?  Elena.  I really did love Elena.  Not like I love the woman who lies next to me now, the woman large with my child.  But, I did love her.  She was the little bit of light in the middle of all my darkness -- as corny as that sounds.  And Brooke knew it, too.  I should have been more careful with Brooke.  Should have taken her unstable behavior more seriously.  I was a cop, after all.  But, I wasn't willing to admit to myself what I knew deep down to be the full extent of her anger, of her hatred.  Because if I admitted that to myself, I would have had to admit that maybe I was a little bit responsible for it.  Yes, she was crazy.  That wasn't my fault.  But, in how I treated her -- in how I screwed around on her -- I probably did tip the scales a bit.  Probably did uncage the beast that was inside of that tiny lady.  And now one lives in an institution, unable to even feed herself.  And one lives in prison.  Elena didn't mean to cause that trauma to Brooke's brain. Brooke, after all, did start the fight.  The fight that ended in a fall when Elena pushed Brooke away from her.  And when a head meets concrete violently, the head doesn't stand much of a chance.  I really didn't think Elena would face prison time.  It seemed a simple matter of self-defense to me.  Evidently, the D.A. saw things differently.  He maintained that Elena used unnecessary force.  And the D.A. prevailed. 

So, that's how it was.  That's where I was.  Trapped in a life I had never anticipated.  Looking for a way out.  The usual escapes -- sex, alcohol -- they weren't doing it, anymore.  And the other cops?  They were polite, professional.  But, they were no longer my comrades.

So, I made a decision.  A decision that involved putting into practice one of the things I had learned from John Cooper -- skimming pills from perps I took into custody.  (Of course, Cooper always denied that he did this.  I never fuckin' believed him, though.  No sane person would.  The guy was a fuckin' addict.  And addicts say whatever they need to say.)  Nobody noticed a few pills missing here and there -- especially when I made sure I was the one to book the things into evidence.  It only took a few months, and I had enough to do what I needed to do.  Kill myself.  You may wonder why I didn't just eat my gun.  Basically, I was too polite for that.  Didn't want anyone to have to clean up after me.  And there were Olivia and Chloe to think about.  And my mother.  Chances were, it would have been one of them who found me.  And I didn't want them to find a bloody mess.  With the pills, it would have been far more peaceful -- for me and for all the rest of 'em.  I go to sleep and they find me that way.  A fuckin' Sleeping Beauty -- guy version.  Except, no kiss could or would have magical powers in this rendition of that classic tale.

To be continued...

Ben Sherman -- Epilogue, Part I

The recent series finale of "SouthLAnd" left our "hero" -- Officer Ben Sherman -- lying on the ground after being confronted by his partner, Officer Sammy Bryant, about his scum-bag ways.  Many folks were left wondering what would have happened to Ben Sherman if the series had been given a sixth season.  Would he have found redemption or would he have continued along his dark path?  It seems dubious that he could once again become that lovely, though rather haunted, young man we remember from the earlier seasons.  It would also be unrealistic for the show's writers to return him to that state.  For, after all, human nature does not work that way.  And the people who made "SouthLAnd" always remained true to what we flawed humans are actually like.  We flawed humans cannot undo our actions, either the good or the evil ones.  Our actions always impact our psyches, our characters, our personalities.  Our actions become part of us.  And our wrong-headed decisions never leave us entirely unscathed, entirely without scars.  But, what we can do is choose where we go from where we are.  So, what would the creators of "SouthLAnd," perhaps in collaboration with the actor who portrays Ben Sherman (Ben McKenzie), have chosen?  I will map out what I see as one possibility. 

I realize I have been rather silly at times in writing about "SouthLAnd" -- in my "spoilers" and "predictions."  I have enjoyed doing that.  Humor has helped me deal with the heartbreaking intensity of Season 5.  It has been a coping mechanism, of sorts.  But, in what I write now -- though it will probably contain humor -- I will try to remain true to the spirit of the show and to the work Ben McKenzie put into portraying Ben Sherman.  And I am pretty sure Mr. McKenzie would not want Officer Sherman to have an easy out from his situation.  Maybe he wouldn't even want to see the character ultimately redeemed.  But, I do.  So, I'm going to go with that and I hope Mr. McKenzie won't mind if he ever happens to come across this blog.  I want Officer Sherman to have a "happy ending."  Not fairy-tale happy, but I want him to come to a place of peace.  Why?  Because I am a Catholic, and I also don't give up too easily on people.  I believe in grace.  I believe most people want to choose the good.  I believe that often, when people choose what is wrong, they do it believing they are choosing what is right.  We see this demonstrated in the final scene between Ben and Sammy in the series finale of "SouthLAnd."  Ben tries to justify himself to Sammy.  He tells Sammy that he has done "what any sane person would do."  Sammy, being actually sane, realizes what insanity this is and punches Ben.  This is the wisest thing Sammy could have done.  My dad would have said that Sammy was "knocking some sense" into Ben.  That's something guys have to do for each other once in a while.  Not that I condone violence, or anything.  But, occasionally, a guy with a good head on his shoulders needs to punch a screwed-up guy in the nose.  This is often the best way of getting the screwed-up guy back on the right path.  As we watch Ben try to justify himself, though, I think he actually believes what he is saying.  I think he has convinced himself of the rightness of his actions.  He has chosen the bad believing it to be the good.

So, as Ben picks himself up off the pavement, his desire is to choose the good...

To be continued... ;-)

Why I Love The "SouthLAnd" Houses

There are very few studio sets built for "SouthLAnd."  Most of the show is shot in and around Los Angeles.  Accordingly, actual houses and apartments are used in many scenes.  And one of my favorite things to do when watching an episode for the second (or third) time is to pay close attention to these residences and how they are decorated for the show.  Those responsible for scouting and choosing the locations and setting them up for the shoots are very talented folks.  They are always perfect backdrops for the action and drama unfolding in the story.

Many of the homes used seem to be in working-class neighborhoods, for example.  Often a crime has been committed within the home. A victim, a criminal, or the family of a victim or criminal might live in the house.  Accordingly, the house has to be chosen and arranged in such a way as to reflect its history and the personalities and lifestyles of the characters who live there.  A home chosen for "SouthLAnd" is often quite charming, though older and a bit run-down.  The paint seems to have been selected, at some point in the past, with care.  The outside walls and trim might be of lovely, though somewhat faded, colors.  There might be a front porch, maybe a little weathered, but perhaps with a welcoming chair or two.  A screen door might be mounted in front of the main doorway, hinting at a time in the past when little children peeked out of it in the evening, waiting for their daddy to arrive home.  There is often a front lawn -- sparse, but trimmed.  Curtains might be seen through the windows, maybe sewn by a new mom home with her baby twenty years ago.  So, as we see Officer Bryant and Officer Sherman approach such a house, as we wonder what they will find within it, we are also made aware of the cultural backdrop and the socioeconomic situation of the individuals they are about to meet.  We feel for joys had and joys lost in the lives of these people.  We are attuned to the fact that there were better times in these places, and this touches our hearts.

As Sammy and Ben enter the home to search it or to make an arrest or even to comfort a victim, our hearts are further touched as we see the more intimate space of the people they encounter.  Furniture often harkens back to the era of my own childhood, indicating the rich family history of the characters -- and, perhaps, their poverty.  There are often built-in cabinets and shelves holding inexpensive, yet precious, knick-knacks -- trinkets carefully chosen on family vacations or given as gifts for special occasions.  Family pictures grace the walls of the home -- walls painted in warm colors by somebody who loves or has loved the victim (or criminal) in the story that is unfolding before us.  The house is usually clean and well-kept -- although, if a crime has been committed therein, it may be in disarray.  But, we can still see the careful housekeeping this disarray masks.  And this is a fitting reminder of the upheaval -- emotional and otherwise -- which crime inflicts upon innocent lives.  We imagine a family eating dinner, watching television, or getting ready for bed in a home that is rather poor, yet carefully kept -- when violence enters into that space.  And we can all feel in our guts what that would be like.  We all know in our hearts that we are potential victims.  And herein lies at least part of the power of "SouthLAnd" and the stories that it tells.  In carefully crafting these scenes, in their brilliant use of a home and its decor, the people who bring us this show make the victims, and even the criminals and those who love those criminals, relatable.

If you are a "SouthLAnd" fan, you have probably noticed these things, as I have.  But, if you haven't, I would encourage you to really take note of the work so meticulously done by the location scouts and set decorators of this courageous show.

#sammyandben4eva -- "SouthLAnd"

Or maybe it was #benandsammy4eva.  Whateva.

My daughter Bridget came up with this hashtag, as part of her "SouthLAnd" fandom.  As is no secret, Sammy Bryant and Ben Sherman are two of our favorite characters on this show.  And we have greatly enjoyed their partnership during Seasons 4 and 5.  That partnership does come to a rather painful end, but that end contains many lessons concerning the human soul, the human character, moral struggles, trust, and friendship.  And upon witnessing Sammy and Ben's last scene together in the Season 5 finale, Bridget stated, "Well, I guess my hashtag is dead."

Is it dead?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  If there is a Season 6, we may discover the answer to this question.  If not, the answer will lie in our own imaginations.

I think it could go either way.

"SouthLAnd" has, over the course of 5 seasons, brought its characters through many ups and downs.  Each character has been faced with moral dilemmas and life struggles -- and each character has had to respond to these dilemmas and struggles.  They have made good decisions -- and poor ones.  They have faced the consequences of their choices and actions.  Most of the characters, after making wrong choices, have made attempts to atone for those choices.  They have striven to become better people after their falls.  We have witnessed characters be reconciled to each other, as in the case of Lydia and Russ.  So, there is more than one possibility as we look to the future of Sammy and Ben's relationship.

Will they continue to be partners in a Season 6?  Very unlikely.

Will they regain what could be called a "friendship?"  It depends.

When we last saw Officer Ben in the Season 5 finale, he was laying on the ground after Sammy confronted him with the "error of his ways."  Officer Ben was not ready to hear about his own shortcomings, and tried to blame Sammy for his own choices.  Sammy, though -- in his detective wisdom -- was not taking any of that shit.  So, as we see Ben on the ground after Sammy leaves him to himself, we wonder what is going through his mind.  Does he honestly believe he has been in the right?  Might he be having some regrets?  He has things to repent of, but will his pride prove to be an obstacle to that repentance?

In my mind, the major factor that would prevent Officer Ben from clearly seeing where he has gone wrong, and from trying to make things right with Sammy, is his tendency to be unforgiving.  And he does have that tendency.  We see it in his relationship (or lack thereof) with his father.  Yes, his father is a douche.  But, I think his father has made an attempt -- as far as he is able to in his douche-dom -- to have at least a little bit of a positive relationship with his son.   And Officer Ben has had none of it.  He has not given his father even a teeny tiny bit of a chance for even a teeny tiny bit of a positive father-son relationship.  Officer Ben has hardened his heart.  And we have also seen him harden his heart in regard to the man who assaulted both his mother and him.  Please don't get me wrong.  I don't think Officer Ben needs to have a relationship with that guy.  I don't think he has to like him at all.  But, the way he goes after the man after he is released from prison is a bit extreme.  The guy did the time for the crime.  Officer Ben's mom is willing to put the whole incident to rest.  But, not Officer Ben himself.  He is unwilling to let go of his anger.  And now his anger is directed at Sammy.  Will he be able to let go of that anger?  After all, Sammy is neither a douche-bag nor a criminal.  But, Officer Ben feels that Sammy has betrayed him.  He feels that Sammy has thrown his friendship "under the bus."  He blames Sammy for his own wrong decisions.  He feels that Sammy is ungrateful to him.  So, we will have to see if Officer Ben has the ability to let go of his self-righteous, prideful anger.  We will have to see if he can own up to his screw-ups.  We will have to see if he is able to have a forgiving heart, after all.

As I watched the last episode of Season 5, though, I did see one bright, shining, little spot for Officer Ben -- one little crack in the almost closed door of his soul.  During this episode, Sammy is up in a police chopper.  That chopper takes gunfire and it starts to leak fuel.  An emergency landing is required.  Officer Ben hears all this on the radio of his squad car, and he races to the location where the emergency landing will take place.  He is clearly alarmed.  His genuine concern for Sammy is apparent.  He has not, as yet, completely lost his heart, his humanity.  There are still some avenues for grace left.

So, as we leave Officer Ben laying on the pavement in the last filmed episode of "SouthLAnd," there is more than one voice in his head.  There is the "angel" and the "devil," if you will.  There is temptation.  But, there is grace.  He still has a choice.  And the choice that he makes will ultimately determine whether or not he and Sammy can be reconciled or have any type of friendship -- assuming, of course, that Sammy is willing to accept from Ben what would need to be a very sincere apology, made in a spirit of absolute contrition.

This, then, is one of the things I love about "SouthLAnd."  What we see in the "dance" of Sammy and Ben is an illustration of what happens to all of us in our humanity.  There are difficult situations.  There are difficult choices.  There are falls.  There are confrontations with ugly truths about ourselves.  There is our response to those confrontations.  There are opportunities for grace.  And we are reminded that "it ain't over 'til it's over."  We are reminded that we need to persevere in our own struggles, with our own obstacles, in order to become the kind of people we know we really should be.

"SouthLAnd" -- My Favorite "Bad Ben" Moment

"SouthLAnd" again.  Yeah.

As you know, if you are a "SouthLAnd" fan, Officer Ben Sherman has -- put simply -- gone from being a kind-hearted, wide-eyed rookie to being "Bad Ben" (as my Bridget likes to call him).  He began the series as a new cop eager to do the job as it was taught to him at the Police Academy, but has become an "ends justifies the means" type of dude -- seeming to proclaim himself the ultimate "arbiter of good and evil."  The path taken by Officer Ben has been executed beautifully by the "SouthLAnd" folk -- creators, producers, writers, directors, costume designers, hair stylists, make-up artists, and, of course, the actor (Mr. Ben McKenzie) himself.  Our ride-along with this character has been an unexpected journey -- filled with heroism, hope, adventure, romance, suspense, and heartbreak.  And the whole thing culminated in the Season 5 finale with Officer Sherman lying (laying???) on the ground in seeming defeat, suffering the consequences of his misguided decisions.

This Tale Of Officer Sherman has been wonderful for the show and for the actor.  It has brought depth and complexity to "SouthLAnd," and has shown the extraordinary ability of Mr. McKenzie to portray different types of characters.  Nobody will ever be able to pigeon-hole this guy from here on out.  The whole thing has also been, perhaps, just a little bit hard on the hearts of us viewers.  I have to admit, though, that it can be kind of fun watching Officer Ben be a bad guy.  At times, it has even been amusing.  And I would like to share with you one of the moments in which -- I admit -- I was actually grinning.  And giggling.

In Episode 10 of Season 5, Officer Ben is, basically, panic-stricken.  The walls are closing in around him, and the heaviest of those walls involves the fact that he had his girlfriend's rather dim-witted brother break into his partner's house to steal a potentially career-ending videotape.  The escapade, naturally, went awry; and now Officer Ben is trying to keep his very bright, former-detective partner from figuring the whole situation out.  Part of Officer Ben's strategy is to threaten his girlfriend's brother and convince him to leave town.

So, we see Officer Ben lurking behind a wall in his cop uniform, awaiting the arrival of the unsuspecting brother, whose name is Chris.  Chris comes nonchalantly walking along, not a care in the world, when he is spotted by Officer Ben.  Officer Ben peeks out from around the corner -- where he is hiding like a hunter in a duck blind -- and whistles at Chris.  HE. WHISTLES.  In a way that is both menacing and rather hilarious.  And I find myself in a fit of giggles on my sofa.  And I am thinking to myself, "I have no idea who thought of that whistle thing right there.  I have no idea if it was the writers or the director or Mr. McKenzie.  But, whoever thought of it was freaking brilliant."  Officer Ben then marches (?), strides (?), walks authoritatively and with great purpose (?) over to Chris and proceeds to deliver a rather frightening speech about how he's gonna "bury him" if he tries to pull anything that would incriminate Officer Ben in any type of way, etc.  Officer Ben "encourages" Chris to make himself scarce and backs this encouragement up by stuffing what appears to be a wad of cash into the ignorant fool's pocket. (Officer Ben always has plenty of cash on hand.  Trust fund from his dysfunctional parents, I suppose.)

I find myself just loving this whole scene.  I find myself gleefully imagining what I would do if I were Chris's mother.  Because, frankly, if I were Chris's mother, the boy would not be able to leave town without me wresting from him all the facts about what in the hell was going on.  Actually -- if I were Chris's mother -- I would have had a handle on the whole situation long ago, and it never would have gotten so far and Officer Ben would not be hanging out with my either of my kids.  But, anyway, once I had extracted all the information about this ridiculous situation from my ridiculous son, I would have given Officer Ben a little speech of my own that would have sent him -- tail between his legs -- back to that Castaic place from whence he came.

(Excuse me, please.  I am having too much fun here.)

So, back to my point.  Which was???  Oh, yes.  I remember.

My point was -- and is -- that although the phenomenon of "Bad Ben" is rather hard on us Officer Sherman fans, it can also be a fascinating thing to watch -- and sometimes even a lot of fun.  And I am grateful for this to all of the people who bring us "SouthLAnd."  It has been quite a roller coaster ride.  And I do love roller coasters. ;-)