1 BULLETPROOF DAD It was in the spring of 1985 when I nearly lost my dad, Milton.

I was still in my junior high school days back then. The most important things in my life were playing football before school started, seeing my friends keeping up with my grades so my parents wouldnt get on my back. On the night we got the dreaded call, the heaviest thing on my mind was a letter I had to give a girl I had a crush on in school the next day. There was no other care in the world. I dont remember the exact time when the call came in. I remember it was after 10pm because the Channel 11 news had already started. I could hear it from the TV in my parents room. My younger brother, Carl, was in a deep sleep and not even the loudest noise ever woke him. It wasnt unusual for the phone to ring after ten. Usually it was my dad checking in with my mother to make sure all was well in the Abbott household. He was New York City police officer with the Housing Authority in Coney Island and worked until midnight most the time. This was so that he could have a more flexible weekend to spend with us. He would come home in the early morning hours, look in on my brother and me, then cook himself a steak for his dinner before turning in. On several occasions I would get up from the smell of steak cooking and go to the kitchen to say hi. Sometimes I would share in a glass of ice tea with him, then mope back to bed. So unless I was in trouble for something or I really needed to talk to him, my mother never called me to speak to him on the phone. But this call was different.

2 I heard the phone ring twice then stop. I couldnt hear what my mother was saying but after a couple of minutes she called to me. Marc? Marc, are you up? Yes. Come here, she said. I never went right to sleep like my brother. I usually didnt fall asleep until eleven. I would often sit up in my bed listening to my walkman; flipping from 95.5 WPLJ to 98.7 KISS FM listening to various rock songs and slow jams. I liked various kinds of music and there was something about the Quiet Storm that was soothing and it helped me get to sleep. That night I didnt have my headphones in when she called me. I climbed out of bed and walked down the hall to my parents room. It wasnt a long walk; maybe about fifteen steps. When I got to their doorway, my mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, the phone gripped tightly in her hand and she was staring at the floor. She didnt acknowledge me at first; she just kept listening to whoever it was on the other end of the line. Whats up, mom? I asked. My mother held up a single finger and continued to listen. After a moment, she put her hand down and nodded. Okay, so hes there? she asked, her voice quivered a little, as though she was nervous, but she looked calm. She listened again. Yes, my oldest is here, I will tell him, hold on. She took the phone away from her ear and looked at me. Dad has been shot. I grabbed my chest as shock set in and my entire body tensed up. What do you mean hes been shot?

3 Someone shot him, but he is okay. Hes in the hospital and hes fine. She was incredibly calm when she spoke. Come here and sit next to me. I couldnt move at first. I just stood there looking at her, still trying to process what she had just told me. Growing up with a cop for a father, I heard all the horror stories of police shot in the line of duty. Most of them didnt survive violent encounters. I had overheard my dad talk about how a fellow officer chased a suspect into the housing projects and got ambushed. I had seen my dad get dressed in his blues to go to the funerals of fallen officers. My mind now formed an image of my dad lying in the street in a pool of blood dead and his fellow officers surrounding him. Despite my mothers calm disposition and her claim that he was okay, I became very afraid for my dad. What if he was okay now, but dead in a couple of hours? I could hear the voice of 1010 Wins anchor Paul Smith in my head saying hes was listed in good and stable condition, but took a turn for the worst. I became so scared that I tried to scream, but nothing came out. As the tears came, my mother got off the bed and grabbed me. Never before that night had I ever remembered her holding me so tight. Hes alive, Marc. Hes okay, she said. Its okay. Its okay. I screamed into her chest and began to shake. The last time I had cried so hard was when my grandfather had passed away. My mother held on to me as she returned to the phone call. Yes, I just told him. Hes going to be fine. Im going to make my way to the hospital now. She hung up the phone and held me as tight as she could. Shh, its okay. Hes okay. I need you to be strong, she whispered. I know it hurts. Just hold on.

4 Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. Not the letter I had written, not my crush on that girl at school, nothing at all. I was trying to push the image of my dad being shot out of my head all the while my mother kept her composure. I dont remember seeing her cry at all. She didnt cry in front of me. I, however, was a mess and tried to stop the tears but I just couldnt. I need you to be strong for me, okay? She let go of me and looked at me. Can you do that? Can you be strong? Y-Y-Yes, I said through the tears. Who shot him? Why would someone shoot him? I dont know yet. Im going to go to the hospital to see him. But he was wearing his bullet proof vest. Thats what stopped the bullets from killing him. He will be okay, she said. I need to call your aunt to have her come and stay with you, but you can sleep in here. Dont say anything to Carl. I will tell him in the morning. Carl was still fast asleep. He hadnt heard me get up nor did he hear my crying. To make sure he stayed that way, she told me to climb in the bed and sleep on my dads side. I climbed in and crawled to my fathers side. Any other day, their king sized bed would have been a place of comfort. But just paying in my dads groove on his side made me miss him terribly and cried myself to sleep on his pillow. I dont remember when my mother left or even when she came home. She never woke me to give me an update. The next morning when I woke up, my mother was not where around. I figured she had stayed at the hospital. So I jumped out of bed and started to rush back to my room to get dressed. I wanted to be ready to go to the hospital when she got back.

5 When I got to the doorway of my bedroom, there was my mother standing at Carls bed. He was standing on the bed, embracing her and crying. She held him tight and looked in my direction. I guess Carl sensed I was there because he turned and looked at me as well. Dads been shot, he said to me. I know, I said to Carl. Mom? Go take a shower and get dressed. We have to go to the hospital. My mother tended to Carl for the moment. I took a quick shower, got dressed and went downstairs. I wasnt very hungry, but I knew my mother wasnt going to let me leave the house without eating something. When I entered the kitchen was an officer and my mothers close friend. The officer was standing and leaning against the counter. My others friend was sitting at the table talking to him. The officer turned when he heard me and met me halfway. You must be Marc, he said. Sorry about your dad. Thanks, I said. You know hes okay. Hes a brave man, the officer added, then he extended his hand. I shook the officers hand. To this day I dont remember what I said to him, but I remember just after shaking his hand, going to the table and eating cereal. Carl joined me a few minutes later. When we were done, the officer drove all of us to the VA hospital located on Ocean Parkway near Coney Island in Brooklyn.

6 When we entered the hospital, we were led by another uniformed officer to a back elevator. I remember the hospital staff was concerned with Carl and I being led to that particular wing of the hospital. From what I gathered, you had to be a certain age to go through there. But I heard the officers saying, These are his sons and his wife, step back please. As we rode the elevator up a few floors, my heart was beating a mile a minute. I looked over and saw Carl looking worried. He was holding our mothers hand and trying to hold back his tears. I knew how he felt. I was scared to see my dad. I was afraid that he was going to look really messed up or have an oxygen mask over his face and only able to speak for a little at a time. You guys anxious to see your dad? the officer asked us and Carl and I nodded. I know hes anxious to see you too. The constant reassurances werent helping. I was still scared. The elevator door slowly opened on the floor my dad was. I could see there was a team of police standing there. It was just one big crowd of blue uniforms. It looked more like the inside of his precinct than a hospital. I couldnt see a doctor or a nurse. Then I saw a tall white male cop, dressed differently than the others, push his way through the sea of blues and walk toward us. He was dressed in a white shirt, dark pants and a lot of medal bars on his breast. Hi Vi, he said to my mother as he walked up to us. How you doing? Im hanging in there, she said.

7 I see the boys are here, he said as he smiled at us. Youre dad is doing great guys. He patted me on the shoulder, then turned to my mother. Ill walk with you and the boys to his room. Thank you, my mother said. You boys know the lieutenant? Carl and I didnt respond. The lieutenant just smiled before he led the way to my dads room. As we started to clear the group of officers I heard a woman yell anxiously, The boys are here! His sons are here! I looked in the direction of the voice and saw a woman holding a microphone with the Channel 11 news logo on it. Behind her was a cameraman trying his best to get a shot of us walking. She started to rush toward us, but the police stopped her. I just want to talk to the boys, she said. Give them a minute, an officer barked. They havent seen their father yet! I dont want them talking to my sons, my mother said to the lieutenant. The lieutenant mumbled something and we were led past an army of photographers screaming for Carl and me to look at them. But we were focused on getting in the room to see our dad. We entered my dads room quickly. I couldnt see him with the lieutenant in front of me, but when he stepped to the side thats when I saw his bed. There was my dad sitting up in the bed with a big smile on his face. His teeth showed bright under his thick moustache. Both his hands were wrapped and there was an IV in his arm. Carl and I rushed to him and hugged him. Im okay guys, he said in a jovial tone. Im fine.

8 But all we could do was cry. We held on to him while the officers kept the press at bay. I told you he was okay, my mother said. We let him go and checked him to make sure. He had some bandages on his chest and stomach too, but he told us that was from the impact of the bullets. There was nothing to worry about. Then the press and photographers was let in and the picture taking started again. They interviewed my dad, asking him how he felt and what the situation was like when the gunman shot him. When I got hit, it felt like hot pokers, I remember him saying. Someone asked him to tell them what happened. It was then I heard how the terrifying ordeal unfolded. My dad and his partner were on patrol in their car when some kids approached their vehicle to report that they saw a man with a gun. My dad took down the description from the kids and after driving around for a minute they found the guy walking down the street with a paper bag. My dad, who was driving, pulled over and asked the man to approach the vehicle so they could question him. As he approached, the man reached into the bag, pulled the gun out and opened fire into the car. Five bullets struck my dad in the chest, catching him off guard. His partner tried to get his gun out, but the gunman took aim and fired, shooting out my dads partners window instead.

9 Then the gunman did something they had not expected. He ducked down, crawled to the back of the car and reloaded. My dad realized in those seconds that his bulletproof vest stopped the fatal shots from going through him. He quickly undid his seatbelt and reached for his gun just as the gunman stood up and fired again, striking him in the hand. Like a killer shark hunting its prey, the gunman dropped down again and circled around the car. They werent sure if the gunman was coming back around for another attack, so my dad got out the car and looked to see where he was moving to next. The gunman had started to make his way around to the front of the vehicle. My dad, bleeding from the wound in his hand, waited until the gunman was in position then he opened fire on him. The gunman ducked down more. Realizing that my dad was no longer in the car, he tried to run away from the car. My dad opened fire again and struck the gunman in the leg. The gunman fell but got up and kept running as best he could, leaving a trail of blood behind. My dad and his partner never pursued him. My dad collapsed by the car and his partner called for backup. Shots fired! Officer down! my dad said was the call that went in. His fellow officers were on the scene quickly. They found the trail of blood and decided to follow it. They found the gunman several blocks away cowering in some bushes in someones yard. He was now in custody.

10 When my dad finished, then the reporters were shown the bulletproof vest that saved his life. From the day they issued it to him, my dad had worn his bulletproof vest to work. It was like his second skin. The white vest that Carl and I were so used to seeing now had bullet holes and blood on it. I couldnt figure out where the blood had come from at first. Then I remembered he had got shot in the hand. So I figured he must have touched his chest with that hand. The lieutenant stepped in talked about the vest and what prevented the bullets from penetrating it. Then my mother reiterated to the press how important it was for every officer to wear their vest in the line of duty. I keep it clean for him and he wears it every day, she said. I implore to all police officers to please, please wear your vests. It truly is a life saver. My dads partner, who was only hit with flying glass from their police car, spoke next. He told the reporters how lucky he was that he didnt get shot. He wasnt wearing his bulletproof vest and had the gunman shot him, he wouldnt have been alive. With the reporters satisfied, the photographers took a family photo of us around my dads bed. With that out of the way, Carl and I made my way into the hallway to get some air. The woman reporter from Channel 11 was still in the hall. She was talking to the camera man as we passed her and went to a window away from all the drama. I was exhausted, but not sure why. I kept Carl close to me as the police officers filed into the room to talk to my dad. With mom still in the room, I didnt want anything to happen to him. Not that we were in any danger, but I just felt for some reason I needed to keep him close.

11 As we looked out the window, the woman reporter came over to me and tapped me on the shoulder. She asked me my name, introduced herself and her cameraman. To this day I cant remember her name, but I remember she was kind when she spoke to me. And this is your little brother? she asked. This is Carl, I said. She smiled then said, Marc, do you think I can get an interview with you and your brother? I just want to ask a couple of questions. I looked back at my dads room. I couldnt see my mother to ask her if it was okay. I thought about it for a moment and felt that no hard could come from answering a few questions. So I made the judgment call and agreed to do the interview. After all, no one else had asked Carl and I about how we felt about everything. We talked briefly about our dad and how we were scared for him. I tried my best to keep my resolve and put on a brave face. Carl, however, was a little more emotional than I was. I kept my arm around him as he spoke and he held it together. It was a very quick interview and was over before we knew it. The woman reporter thanked us, then left to do her follow up with the cameraman. It was the only interview we gave that day. We returned to my dads room and sat with him for a little while before the nurses finally told us we had to go. Ill be home soon, okay? my dad said to us as we hugged him. Everythings going to be alright.

12 On the way home, I couldnt get the scenario he described out of my head. I tried to construct a face to go with the gunman, but I couldnt. I just couldnt picture the face of a person who would shoot my dad. All my dad did was asked the man a question and that was enough to warrant him nearly killing him. Why? It was a question that would haunt me for years after. That night when the news aired, my mother was surprised to see Carl on television telling the reporter how he was happy dad was okay. My half of the interview was never shown. When did you talk to the reporter? When we were in the hall, I said. I told the reporter it was okay. She just talked to Carl? She talked to me too. I dont know why she didnt show me, I said, a little put off that my interview had been omitted. Years later I would come to realize that Carls portion was more heart wrenching than mine. The viewers would be more sympathetic to him than the stronger older brother. Thats not to say my strength was a bad thing. Its what big brothers do; stay strong in the wake of difficult times. Within a week, my dad was back home and we slowly got back to our routines. People at school made a big deal about the whole ordeal and I was given some special treatment for a while. But after awhile, that all passed and I was off to summer camp when school let out.

13 We rarely talked about the shooting with my dad. He went to court and the man who shot him was convicted for attempted murder. I remember asking my dad was the man going to jail for a long time and he said yes. That was enough for me to know. And life moved on. Copyright 2012 Marc L Abbott