This misguided attempt to arouse sympathy for policemen and their families is the last book we'd recommend to another child whose father is a policeman. At first, the glow of a little girl's description of life with her father -- one line to each white page -- is reflected in the facing color photos of Daddy taking her to the zoo, reading her a story, etc. But a sharp discrepancy is introduced with the words ""I wonder if my Daddy thinks of me when he is working"" opposite a nighttime montage of neon lights, close-up hand firing a pistol, and Daddy's toppling, yellow-slickered back, then Daddy lying face down on the pavement (""I hope my Daddy remembered to wear his raincoat""). Then for the final words, ""My Daddy was a policeman,"" there's a hokey, moody-blue juxtaposition of the child's brooding, tear-dripping face against a foggy, rain-dripping window pane. The notion in itself represents the worst kind of heartstring manipulation, and the treatment is so slick and the irony so heavy that it doesn't even work as propaganda.