I CALL SHOTGUN

They say the term “shotgun” started with old Westerns on TV as a reference to the dude on the left of the stagecoach driver. He was the armed guard ready to regulate on bad guys trying to rob the transport.

Last night I rode shotgun and didn’t even have to call it. I was on a ride-along with a friend who’s a police officer in a local city. Only one rule, try not to touch anything unless something goes down. In that case, touch everything that will save a life. Got it. Let’s roll out.

Seven hours never went by so quickly, swervin’ and servin’. If you’re not careful you start to feel like a cop then you pat your chest for Teflon and reality sets back in. But why is the front passenger seat so coveted? Maybe it’s because you have access to the driver. Drivers determine where you end up and how fast you get there. Shotgun is the next best thing to being “the man”. Often times you end up being the navigator or the eyes and ears to track potential danger.

Last night I was by no means a policeman. I updated followers on Twitter all night to let people see some of the color involved with a typical night on the beat. I was an embedded reporter at best. Shotgun is great but when you call “Shotty” what you really want is to call “Driver”. Shotgun is driver envy. But the value of being the “scrub” on the passenger seat is that you are free to observe, free to learn and free to absorb. The questions I kept asking myself were: Where are we, How fast are we going, Are we endangering the public, Is this family going to mob us because my buddy just arrested their relative, Will we need those weapons on the rack in the center of the vehicle, etc. That’s color I don’t get as a driver.

I can’t help but see the analogy this way. LIFE IS SHOTGUN and God is driving. He’s seen everything I’m seeing right now and has given me the passenger seat so I can embrace the journey and document its progression. My cop buddy doesn’t need my seat anymore because he’s in the think of police work everyday. In fact, last night kind of bored him but not me. Just being in the car with an assault rifle was exhilirating. We talked to “gangstas”, prostitutes, felons and the like. I beheld a mother’s pain of sudden separation as we drove off with her son. The truth that life on earth can be utterly destroyed by the choices we make was apparent last night and all because I rode shotgun. I grew up in South Los Angeles so I’d seen many of the episodes we encountered on the ride-along. But somehow this was different because I felt like I was involved in the work of one man doing his part to serve a community. That’s real. People complain about the cop just like they claim God is a farce. But everybody wants protection and when tragedy strikes people get down on those knees don’t they.

The 6ixthman lesson from last night was simple. Be vigilant while riding shotgun. The driver is excited and the world desperate for you.

VIDEO: I Call Shotgun