When I was growing up, almost every boy dreamed of becoming a policeman. It was a simple dream, born out of the games we played and the heroes we imagined ourselves to be.
In households, the older brother would be the first to wear the badge of authority, with a pair of toy handcuffs ready to complete the uniform. He would arrest the villain, usually one of his younger siblings, and the living room would become a police station.
But if you happened to be the only male child, only one person was worthy of the criminal role – your father. With all seriousness as a child, we will place those handcuffs around our father's wrists. He would play along, surrendering himself to the authority of a little boy who, only moments earlier, could barely tie his own shoelaces.
