T'was the night before Christmas, he lived all alone, in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone. I had come down the chimney, whith presents to give, and to see just "who" in this home did live. I looked all about, a strange sight I did see. No tensel, no presents, not even a tree. No stockings by the fire, just boots filled with sand. On the wall hung pictures of him with a friend.

With medals and badges, awards of all kinds, a sobering thought soon came through my mind. For this house was different, unlike any I'd topped. This was the home of a police officer, a cop.

I'd heard stories about "them". I had to see more, so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door. And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone, curled up on the floor in his one bedroom home. He seems so gentle, his face so serene. Not how "I" pictured a protection machine. Was this the hero, of whom I'd just read, curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed.?

His head was neatly groomed, his face weathered tan. I soon understood, this was more than a man. For I realized the families I saw that night, owed their lives to these people who were willing to fight.

Soon around the nation, the children would play, and grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas Day. They all enjoyed peace, each month and all year, because of officers like this one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many patrol, on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land called their own. Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye. I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice, "Santa don't cry, this life is my choice." "I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more, my life is my God, my partner, my force."

With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep. I couldn't control it, I continued to weep. I watched him for hours, so silent, so still. I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill. So I took off my jacket, the one made of red, and covered this officer from his toes to his head. Then I put on his jacket with badge silver and gold, with the words "police officer" emblazoned so bold. And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride. And for one shining moment, I was an officer deep inside.

I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night. This guardian of honor so willing to fight. But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice so clean and pure said, "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas Day, all's secure." One look at my watch and I knew he was right. Merry Christmas, my friend, ten-four, and good night.