THE NIGHT SHIFT

When I was a little girl, I hated it when my dad worked the night shift. One of Allentown’s finest, one of the men in blue, he was out there in the city with his police brothers, scooping up criminals, rescuing the downtrodden or aiding those adrift. 

At least, that’s how I saw it.

But what about us. Us being his kids. Oh sure my Mom was there, but what if we needed him.

Like at three AM. Suppose a crook wanted to break into our house. Huh. How about that! Yup, there was a bit of resentment where a bit of pride should have been.

Nevertheless, as the years passed and I grew up, I got over it. Helped in large measure by the advantages that came with the eleven PM to seven AM graveyard shift, at least, as far as we kids were concerned. 

Because, depending on what district he was patrolling, very often when we woke the next morning, there would be a big white box in the center of the dining room table. 

And inside the delectable smelling box, were a dozen donuts. Six white iced and six chocolate iced, raised dough, hot off the racks, donuts.

Dad never forgot, no matter how hair raising a shift he may have had. He took the time to stop at Behringer’s Bakery.

And four hungry kids pounced on Behringer’s Donuts like they were manna from heaven.

Let’s hear it for the night shift!