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.

My Mom's Story: Part 1- Growing Up in Thornhill

I’m starting this blog for two reasons. The first being that more and more I find I need a writing outlet. I’m inspired by my friends’ blogs and the honesty in their writing so I figured I would give this a try. The second is that its my mom’s 50th birthday coming up and I want to do something in her honour. She doesn’t know I’m doing this and it’s probably best she doesn’t hear about it until it’s done so that she doesn’t put the kaibosh on it out of modesty. My mother is where I will begin. This is not meant to be a biography, yet in order to appreciate what my mother has taught me and how she has inspired me it seems only fitting to look at where she’s come from and how far she has come in her life thus far.


My Mom's Story : Part I - Growing Up in Thornhill

All stories focusing on one’s life seem to begin with the date they came into the world. This seems as good a place as any to start, especially with my mother’s upcoming 50th birthday. My mother was born on July 25, 1961 in Collingwood, Ontario. I won’t go too far into her childhood as I wasn’t there to attest to it and I wouldn’t want to skew another’s memories. However, it seems that she was a curious little kid who was independent and had no inhibitions about leaving her her home and going to visit her grandparents down the street without telling her parents where she was going. She was mature beyond her years and by age six she was certain she was destined to be an only child. Luckily, she was blessed with a baby sister that year who she endeavored to keep out of trouble in the years that followed.
My mom has always had a strong work ethic which I know for certain that she developed growing up in her household. Her parents were from a farming background and they brought that with them to their acreage home in Thornhill, Ontario. There was no sleeping in allowed because there were always chores that could be done around the house and on the property. As there were no boys in the family her dad became an equal opportunist of sorts and made sure his girls were well-rounded in all family tasks. There were no “pink” or “blue” jobs as I’ve heard them referred to recently.
Mom worked equally hard in school. Though she wasn’t one who achieved especially high marks she did excel in art and was athletic, participating in many school teams, her favorite being basketball. Like myself, she struggled in math and also like myself she was bullied and teased about her looks. These two things especially endeared her to me as a child (knowing that she had problems in math but now she paid all the bills and helped me with my math homework and that she was also tormented by her classmates but was now the most beautiful woman I knew). I think it was in these years that she developed her determination. If you want to defeat my mother the worst thing you can do is to tell her that she is not capable of accomplishing something. That’s all the kindling she needs to light a fire and she will burn through any obstacles until she achieves just what you said she couldn’t do. Then she’ll take it a step further and be the best at it too!
Basically, by the time she was 15 years old my Mom was a sweet, mature, independent and well-balanced girl with numerous skills. At this time she also attended and became a confirmed member of The United Church of Canada. That winter her church paired with the nearby Presbyterian Church to billet youth coming from Virginia. Mom of course, in all appropriateness, asked to billet another young woman. However, there were a few local boys there that had come to participate hoping that they could also billet some young American women. One of these boys was the good-natured but more rebellious 17-year-old son of a Presbyterian Church Elder. It was in the church basement that this boy first asked Lee Anne if she’d like to go grab lunch with him at McDonalds. She didn’t answer him. There was another girl named Lee Anne there. She was certain he must be asking that other Lee Anne out.

To be continued. . .