Firm, Fair and Friendly

Constable McKechnie at Millgrove School

In front of our old house on Millgrove Drive

Some of you know my Dad as Sandy or Mr. McKechnie or maybe as Corporal McKechnie. Some of you might remember him as “Alexis’ and Cam’s dad” even. However, I think a lot of you might remember him as “Constable McKechnie”, the policeman who came and walked around the school during recess, chatting with you about staying safe, listening to you tell him about “this one time. . .” and maybe giving you a sticker or pencil or lapel pin.



I’m writing this for you today. Well, for you, and in honor of my dad. Today, June 26, my Dad, Corporal McKechnie, known by many as Constable McKechnie, is retiring from the RCMP after over 25 years of service.

I could write pages on being an RCMP family, about my dad’s stories, about how proud I am of him, my memories of him. Seriously, pages worth of memories. However, I’ve decided to try and impart a couple of things in this post in honor of dad’s retirement. The first is his policing philosophy.

I want you to know and be assured that the “nice policeman” who talked to you on the playground really was a truly kind and fair police officer throughout his career. It may seem biased coming from me, but I say this feeling confident that hundreds of people that have dealt with my dad through the years would back me up.

Dad’s policing philosophy has always been “Firm, Fair and Friendly”. He has a gift for speaking to people, understanding them and relating to them. Dad taught us that people end up in bad situations because they’ve made poor choices. This does not necessarily mean that they are “bad”, “rotten” or unworthy of kindness. He is a firm advocate that in day-to-day dealings police officers should be treating men and women the way that they would want their own mother or father, brother or sister treated. It was always noted that authority in the law did not give a police officer the right to act as though they were a “better breed” than the regular citizen.

In fact, when my dad came to Millgrove School to walk around and talk to us during recess it was because he wanted you to learn from a young age that he was not an enemy; that he was there to help you; that police officers can be trusted.

I can’t tell you how many times we would meet a client of my dad’s while we were grocery shopping who would tell me what a wonderful man my father was, about how much he had helped them in their situation. Even when dad was dealing with people who were on the wrong side of the law people thanked him! Some of these folks turned their lives around eventually and remembered dad from their more troubled youth. That’s another thing that I’m glad dad taught me - that people can change. Not every one does, but it is possible. People should not be considered write-offs.

Since being transferred to Red Deer, Dad has been the head of the Domestic Violence Unit. He’s been working with women who have been abused by the men in their lives and concurrently has also been encouraging those men who want to change their abusive behavior.

However, in all of the good work that my dad has been doing through the years we all  know that the world can be a dark and scary place. So I want to impart a second thought. I would like to talk about what it’s like to send your dad to work every day in this sometimes disparaged world. I want to write this too for all of my friends who now work in emergency services.

Dancing at his Depot Graduation

As a paramedic who grew up with a parent in emergency services I feel I have a view from both sides. I remember lying in bed as a little girl praying to God, bargaining with God, that I would be a good girl if only he would keep my daddy safe from the bad guys. I prayed to God that I would never hear the doorbell in the middle of the night. I knew that would mean my daddy was dead.
One morning, when I was about 10, I woke up and heard my parents laughing in the kitchen. I walked in and saw my dad, stitches in his head, a bloody bandage around his elbow. I distinctly remember the feeling of my heart dropping into my stomach and I sat down right there on the floor. But dad laughed at one of his own jokes before coming to give me a hug and assuring me that he was alright, that he had just gotten into a tumble with someone who had stopped taking their medications.
When I was 20 my mom and I woke up one morning to discover that Dad had never come home. He wasn’t answering the phone. Mom called the dispatch center and asked where he was. Again the feeling of dread returned when the dispatcher became panicky realizing that no one knew what had happened to him. Luckily this also had a happy ending as dad was at an emergency scene and had a miscommunication with dispatch. We all know that other police families have not been so blessed.

I have heard some of my coworkers discuss how they feel guilty when they have to miss their kid’s events due to shift schedules. I would say that although I’m sure there were times when I was disappointed that my dad couldn’t be there, I don’t have any actual memories of disappointment. I remember always being proud that my dad’s job was to help people. I remember the events that he did make it to, especially the ones that he came to in uniform. As long as you make the most of the time you spend with your children and as long as you don’t bring the job home with you, your profession will not wreck your children.

I would like to end with a request. Likely, many of us have had an unpleasant experience with a police officer, I know I have. On top of that the news pelts us with stories of police shootings, brutality, and unprofessional conduct. Before you paint all police officers with the same brush, before you find a police officer guilty in your own judgement, before you post some story about police brutality in a mob situation and especially before you talk disparagingly about the police in the presence of your children, remember the little children who are praying that their daddy comes home safe. Consider that for every police officer who is rude, impatient and arrogant there is one good one like my dad.

I would ask you to stop and remember Constable McKechnie, that kind policeman that talked to you at recess.

Because That's What You Do

When I was a baby girl my dad would lift me up on the hour so that I could see the cuckoo bird pop out of the cuckoo clock. I felt like I was hundreds of feet in the air when he would let me ride on his shoulders. When I was tired he would pick me up and carry me to bed. I was amazed at his strength when he would fly me around the house like an airplane or hold me upside down by the ankles. And even when he was in the middle of a conversation, if I reached out with stretched arms and said “Daddy, up?” he would hear me and pick me up without missing a beat because that’s what you do when you love your baby girl.

When I was a little girl my dad would sometimes drop me off at school in his police car -even though we lived right across the street, just because he knew it made me feel special. He told me I was smart, not just beautiful - but smart, and he told me often. He pushed me on the swings, took me to fly kites and blew bubbles with me. He sang to me and told me fairytales. He knelt beside my bed and prayed with me. I would stand on top of his feet and he would dance with me and tell me that we would dance like this on my wedding day. And he held my hand, because that’s what you do when you love your little girl. 

When I was a teenage girl my dad would read everything I wrote and edit it for me and then he would read it again, even if I was cramming an eight page essay at midnight. He came to listen to me sing, or play or practice or speak and always told me that he was proud of me. He told me I was beautiful, not just smart - but beautiful when I felt like the ugliest girl at school. And he held me while I cried over the injustices of youth, because that’s what you do when you love your teenage girl.

When I was a young woman, just starting out, my dad would take my car when I wasn’t watching and put gas in it, just because. He would discuss politics, philosophy, religion and current events into the wee hours of the morning with me, often playing devil’s advocate because he knew it challenged me and made me think. He showered my mother with an abundance of love, respect and admiration, demonstrating to me how a man should treat his wife. He encouraged me to take risks, try new things and to see the world. And he offered me his arm to take when walking, because that’s what you do when you love and honour the young lady that is your daughter. 

When I, as a woman, am busy with the day-to-day things of life, my dad calls me to talk, just because. He listens to my failures and successes and tells me that “everything will work out, it always does.” He loves my dog as much as I do and he makes me wheat-free cupcakes as a surprise. He tells me I’m smart and beautiful. He tries to impart the wisdom of financial planning and he comes by my house to fix, build or plant things -often before I even know it needs to be done. He blows bubbles with me as the sun goes down and we talk about the deeper things like faith, love and the meaning of life. And, whenever we part ways, whether on the phone or in person, our last words are always “I love you” because that’s what you do when you love your grown daughter.

When I am. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .because that’s what you do when you love your daughter.

For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. Of what man is there of you, whom if his son ask for bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?  -Matthew 7:8-11

My Mom's Story: Part VI - Raising a Little Girl into a Capable Lady

"A mother is not a person to lean on, but a person to make leaning unnecessary."

~Dorothy Fisher


I’ve been writing this part in my head for days now. I want to talk about the biggest impact that my mother has had on my life. This is easier said than done. What has she not had an impact on? My mom has been responsible for everything from my table manners to my early 20’s financial success. When I think about it though, there are three things that my mom instilled in me that I am silently grateful for practically every day of my adult life. This was no small task for my mom. Not unlike my mother I was a very determined little girl. I knew better than to be disobedient in actions but this didn’t keep me from asserting to myself that I knew better than my mom in most things. This led me not only to talking back to my mother (which was ALWAYS swiftly punished) but also to develop an under appreciation for how much she loved me and what she was trying to teach me in the hopes of me becoming a productive adult.




To start, my mom has taught me to be a capable, independent “lady”. As a kid I kept many more friends that were boys than girls. Boys didn’t want to rename your dolls or come up with elaborate stories about your Barbies. They wanted to run and play real games. I might have been wearing dresses but it never prevented me from keeping up with the boys. However, I will always remember being in my early twenties, lamenting to my mom about how I didn’t fit in very easily with other young women, that I wasn’t a “girly-girl”. My mom was busy preparing supper as she listened but when she heard this she stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me as though I had said something completely ridiculous.
“Of course you’re not. I never raised you to be a ‘girly-girl’,” was her remark. It’s true, my mom raised me to be a capable lady. Being a lady meant having excellent manners, being a good hostess and being proud of traditional women’s roles. However, this is not where being a lady ends. To be a capable, independent lady means to be well-versed in all that life may ask of you. I watched and helped my mom as she wielded power tools, installed fixtures, cut-down tree branches, put up tents and started fires among numerous other activities that some women would prefer to leave to men. Both my parents believed in not limiting my education to gender roles. My mom taught me that as a woman you don’t leave a task undone because you’d prefer a man to do it. You do what you know how to do. If you don’t know how, you learn. If you’re not sure where to start, you ask. Then you try your best and if you need help, ask for it and allow yourself to be taught. Never let yourself be limited by your size or gender. This has been asset to me not only in my home as a single woman but also on my solo international travels, and most certainly in my career in what used to be a very male-oriented industry. I might wear a uniform and lift double my weight on a regular basis but I can also walk in high heels and sew and knit. I thank my mom for showing me a life where I am not the sum of my gender, that I don’t need to be afraid to learn and try new things and that I’m a well-rounded, capable lady and not a “girly-girl”.

Secondly, my mom raised me as a Christian. I would never, ever underestimate the impact this has had on my life. My mom prefers not to attend church. I think it is in bad taste to discuss someone else’s beliefs on their behalf. I only state this to show that raising me as a Christian was a choice. I’ve heard many parents state that they choose not to raise their children within organized religion because they think their child should have that choice when they’re older. I would take a different approach, but let me further illustrate my God-centered home life. One of my earliest memories is sitting in a church pew playing with the string on my white church hat, I would have been two, maybe three years old and it was the same church that my parents had me Christened in when I was three-months old. From the time I could talk I was taught to pray on my knees before bed and this usually entailed asking God to bless everyone I knew by name and their dog, quite literally. When I was living with my Grandma one of our favourite things to do was sing Bible songs together. We always said Grace before family supper, right until we moved out of the house. It was my mom who took me to church every Sunday. It was at church that I felt safe with my peers in contrast to the bullying I experienced at school. It was at church that I started my life-long-love of choir singing and it’s where I learned public speaking as I was encouraged to read scripture out loud to the congregation from the age of eight. It was my mom’s dedication to making sure I had these opportunities that led to me knowing in my heart, mind and soul that I am a child of God, that I belong to Him. When I was 12 I chose to kneel before the congregation and received the laying of hands that made me a confirmed member of The Church. This was something I chose. I wasn’t brainwashed and I wasn’t sheltered.
I would say that no child will ever regret being taught to purposefully think about the lives and hardships of others, that they won’t suffer from learning to be grateful for the food in front of them and if they do come to know God they’ll always know of the joy and comfort that comes from a life spent with Him. My mom is not some stereotypical, caricature uptight, Bible thumping, Sunday Christian. She’s the most open-minded, non-judgemental and giving person I know, and that, combined with her decision to raise me in the Church has given me to a very enriched spiritual life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Finally, my mom taught me how to fit into life. This probably sounds funny and I honestly don’t have a better way of explaining it. I would start by saying that we live in a culture that rewards extroversion and undervalues introversion. By definition of these somewhat limiting terms I have always been a hardcore introvert. If left to my own devices as a child I probably would have spent the majority of time alone reading books. Unfortunately, introverts have a harder time at life I think. They’re often mistaken for being reclusive, sullen and lacking communication skills. They’re considered not as much “fun” to be around, uptight or boring. Our society has a tendency to pass them over in favour of energy exuding extroverts. My mom (who also considers herself an introvert) was not going to let that happen to me. She taught me both through discussion and example that there is nothing wrong with being more inclined to introversion. This meant that I was reflective, analytical, empathetic, a good listener and excellent at thinking outside of the box among other good qualities. However, if I could work at developing more extroverted qualities and combine them with my innate ones I would open up so many more opportunities in my future. Over the years of choir, soccer, dance, cheerleading, piano, Girl Guides and numerous school groups I learned that being part of a team wasn’t so bad, that the satisfaction of performing for people was pretty fun and that if I thought carefully about what I wanted to say, there were people who actually wanted to listen. Back at home I learned from my mom invaluable pieces of social life like how to carry a conversation and that even if I think small talk is often ridiculous, it serves a purpose in making some people feel more at ease. My mom was forever reminding me to smile more - even if it doesn’t always feel natural. These skills require upkeep. I still have to be reminded to smile more, I still have to remind myself to initiate conversation. Sometimes it takes a lot of effort to bring out my bubbly, charming side. It was Mom who coached me on the value of being able to flip the switch between introvert and extrovert. In essence, over the years my mom has made me an ambivert like herself and it has paid off immensely for me. My first serious job was as a newspaper reporter and then an editor. I was only 19-20 years old and I was calling up MPs and having lunch with MLAs. I was driving out and meeting people to hear their life stories. I had an opinion column that people actually read and I dealt professionally with people who didn’t like what I had to say. I talked with businessmen, teachers, police, teenagers, oil companies, politicians, virtually every facet of society and there is no way I ever would have been successful at that career if not for the more extroverted skills that my mom encouraged me to develop. Now I work on the ambulance which also allows me utilize all of my traits and skills. I’m glad that what probably seemed like my mom nagging or criticizing me at the time turned out to be one of the biggest assets my mom has given me. She’s made my adult life a whole lot easier and allowed me to envision far more opportunities than the little girl locked away in her room reading would have seen.

That is the impact my mother has had on my life. Long post, I know! There’s only one final entry left to write in this little series. If my mom’s story reminds you of your own story or of your mother’s story, if you’ve found it relatable, inspiring, comforting or just a little bit interesting I would ask you to do two things. The first is to comment. The second thing I would ask is for you to look for and read the final post in this series that will be coming soon!




To be continued. . .

My Mom's Story: Part III - A Little Family, A Lot of Love

I’ve always found it a bit odd when other women refer to their mothers as their “best friend”. It’s always seemed to me that a mother is not meant to be a best friend. She’s meant to be my mother, you can’t really add to that relationship. To be a mom is too unique, there’s no other relationship that we as a society so strongly value and yet abuse so much.

My mom decided to undertake this somewhat daunting relationship less than three years into her marriage. She and Sandy had been living in a small apartment in Kingston, Ontario. Mom had gone to college and studied a layout and design type of program. However, the year that she finished the program was the year the industry was completely revamped to facilitate new-fangled computer technology. This effectively made her training obsolete. In Kingston she was working at Woolco as a pharmacy assistant. My dad was in a security management position while he waited for his call-up to the RCMP. If I do the math it would have been around May 1984 when my parents would have told their family to expect the first new member on both the McKechnie and James side. My maternal grandmother was thrilled. However, when my parents brought her out to the site of their newest purchase - a confederation aged farmhouse in a hamlet called Yarker, she cried, upset that my father could consider bringing her pregnant daughter to live in such a rundown excuse for a home. She didn’t need to worry - Mom always has enthusiasm for all the projects she undertakes and she and my dad soon DIY’d that rundown farmhouse into a sweet, antiqued home.

Like many couples in their early 20’s just starting out, my parents lived paycheque to paycheque and as they have always told Cam and I, there were a lot of Kraft Dinner and hot dog suppers during this time. They had just had a hot dog supper the evening that my mother went into labour. When she suggested that they go to the hospital my dad wanted to know if it was okay if they finished watching “The A-Team” first. The trip to the hospital was further delayed when the car wouldn’t start. It was the middle of a January blizzard and here was my mom in labour with her first child waiting for her husband and the neighbours to get the car started. The delay didn’t really matter. I’ve never been one to make anything easy on my mother, including my birth. It took another 16 hours before I made my appearance mid-morning on January 9, 1985. My mother has always been ahead of the times in style and although in a very traditional sense I was named after both of my parents, the name they chose - “Alexis” was very modern and unique and a lot of people didn’t care for it. Today, I think it sits in the top ten or twenty of the most popular girls names in North America. My mom has told me that about a week after I was born my dad went back to work and after he left she remembers having an overwhelming feeling wash over her - that she was now completely responsible for this little warm sleepy body for about the next 20 years. Wow. Just writing that makes me feel overwhelmed. I must have not been too scary though because for my third birthday my mom gave me a baby brother. Cameron Allan James was born the evening of January 8, 1988. I remember sitting on my mom’s hospital bed wondering why she was naming him after a camera - he didn’t look like a camera.
It’s quite clear to me at this moment that I cannot sum up my mom’s affect on my childhood in this single post, so I may come back to it in later posts. For now, I would impart possibly the most important habit my mother raised us with which I’m sure she started from the day we were each born.

“I love you”: Mom told us she loved us every single day of our childhood, including when we were teenagers. Whether it was in the morning when we got up, when we left for school, following the debriefing of our latest misbehaviour, when comforting us or celebrating with us or at bedtime, at least once a day my mom told me she loved me.
I never had to wonder. This didn’t necessarily make punishments easier and it definitely did not prevent me from treating her poorly. However, I would never underestimate the power of these simple words repeated to me on a regular basis.

I would say that this practice gave me strength and confidence as a child. Kids might tease me and push me around, but at least I can go home to my mom who loves me the way I am. I’m a bit scared to try out for this team, but whether I make it or not my mom will celebrate with me or encourage me to try again. I’m not sure if I’ll get the highest mark on my essay this time, but Mom knows I worked hard at it and she’s just as proud of me because of that. This assurance in our relationship gave me the freedom to go make a place in the world knowing that she would be behind me all the way and that the words “I love you” would never be withheld from me, no matter if it was just an ordinary day or one of the biggest days of my life.

Back in 1988 my parents had been waiting patiently for one of the biggest days in all of our lives and it came shortly after my brother’s birth. It was the day we became an RCMP family and I think it prompted one of the most noble sacrifices any wife and mother can make.

To be continued. . .