The Dead Cop Was My Father.

• Author: DECHEN, MATTHEW
• Position: Brief Article

WOODBURY, N.J.--My senior year was going great until October 18, 2000. The morning started out just like any other day except that my dad, a police officer, had to go for a test at the gun range. He left for work while I was in the shower, so I didn't say goodbye.

At lunch, I had this uneasy feeling in my stomach, and I passed it off, thinking it was something I ate. At about 1 o'clock, I was told to report to the principal's office. A police officer there told me that my dad had been in an accident.

We immediately headed to the police station. As we pulled up, I could see that a media frenzy had consumed the parking lot. I became nervous and asked someone to tell me what had happened. I found out that as my father was cleaning his gun, as he had done thousands of times before, he had somehow missed taking the bullet out of the chamber. It fired into his stomach, and shortly after being rushed to the hospital, he died.

I collapsed. The media took advantage of this situation, showing my temporary insanity on the TV news and putting a picture of me on the front page of the local newspaper.

With my mom and my two younger sisters, all I wanted to do was go home. We were put in unmarked cars to be secretly taken there. We had to disconnect our phones to stop the calls. A policeman was stationed in the driveway. Reporters walked along our street. I felt like a prisoner in my own house.

The next few days were dreadful. I got no sleep. I wanted to run along the river, but I was told I shouldn't because the press would follow me. I resorted to television for amusement, and my heart was torn apart when I heard the news reports. I couldn't watch. I did not want to come to terms with it. I was still waiting for my dad to pull up in his police car.

I...