{"id":38411,"date":"2026-04-05T17:12:57","date_gmt":"2026-04-05T17:12:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411"},"modified":"2026-04-05T17:12:57","modified_gmt":"2026-04-05T17:12:57","slug":"he-finally-put-hands-on-me-i-called-my-daughter-after-the-sheriff-threw-me-across-the-diner","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411","title":{"rendered":"\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d – I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner"},"content":{"rendered":"

Part 1<\/strong><\/p>\n

My name is Walter Hayes. I am seventy-two years old, a Vietnam veteran, a retired postal worker, and the kind of man who still believes a quiet breakfast should remain quiet if you mind your business and treat people decently.<\/p>\n

That morning, I was sitting in my usual corner booth at Maple Street Diner, stirring cream into my coffee and reading the sports page I had already read halfway through the night before. The waitress, Donna, had topped off my mug twice. A farmer near the window was working on eggs and toast. Two mechanics at the counter were arguing about carburetors. It was an ordinary small-town morning, which is to say it was precious.<\/p>\n

Then Sheriff Boone Mercer walked in.<\/p>\n

Every town has a man people go silent around, and in ours, that man was Boone. Tall, thick through the chest, expensive boots, mirrored sunglasses even indoors, and the kind of swagger that comes from never being challenged long enough to mistake fear for respect. The room changed when he entered. Conversations thinned out. Donna looked down. One of the mechanics suddenly got very interested in his hash browns.<\/p>\n

Boone didn\u2019t glance around like a customer. He scanned the room like an owner checking inventory.<\/p>\n

Then his eyes landed on me.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s my booth, old man,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I folded my paper carefully. \u201cMorning to you too.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stepped closer. \u201cI said that\u2019s my booth.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now, I knew what he meant. Everybody in town knew. Boone liked that booth because it gave him a full view of the diner and the front door, and because everyone had learned it was easier to let him pretend the place revolved around him. But I had been there first, and maybe age strips away enough fear that stubbornness starts looking like dignity.<\/p>\n

So I said, politely, \u201cI\u2019m finishing my coffee.\u201d<\/p>\n

His jaw tightened. \u201cMove.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

The whole diner froze.<\/p>\n

For a second, I thought maybe he would laugh it off, make some crude remark, and pick another seat. Instead, he grabbed my arm with both hands and yanked me out of the booth so hard my hip hit the edge of the table. I lost balance, stumbled sideways, and my shoulder slammed into a metal service cart before my head clipped the corner of another table on the way down.<\/p>\n

I still remember the sound more than the pain. Coffee cups rattling. Donna shouting. Someone standing so fast their chair scraped the floor. Blood ran warm behind my ear, and my right arm went weak at once.<\/p>\n

Boone looked down at me like I had spilled something.<\/p>\n

Then he sat in my booth.<\/p>\n

Sat down, picked up a menu, and asked for bacon and eggs.<\/p>\n

Like throwing an old man across a diner was no more serious than asking for extra toast.<\/p>\n

Donna wanted to call an ambulance. Boone told her to mind her business. Someone helped me sit up. Somebody else handed me napkins for the blood. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone, but I made one call anyway.<\/p>\n

Not to the sheriff\u2019s office. Not to a lawyer. Not to a reporter.<\/p>\n

I called my daughter.<\/p>\n

And when she answered, I said five words that changed everything:<\/p>\n

\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was silence on the line.<\/p>\n

Then she said, very calmly, \u201cDon\u2019t do anything else, Dad. I\u2019m coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

What Boone Mercer did not know was that the daughter on her way back to town was not just angry.<\/p>\n

She was trained to dismantle violent men for a living.<\/p>\n

So what happens when a corrupt sheriff attacks the wrong old man\u2014and his daughter decides the next move is war?<\/p>\n

\n

Part 2<\/strong><\/p>\n

My daughter\u2019s name is Tessa Hayes, and if you saw her in civilian clothes, you might mistake her for a woman who prefers bookstores, black coffee, and quiet corners. That would be your first mistake.<\/p>\n

By the time she reached Oakridge, I had already been stitched up at urgent care and sent home with a bruised shoulder, a mild concussion warning, and instructions to \u201cavoid stress,\u201d which would have been funny if the whole town had not spent years living under Boone Mercer\u2019s version of it.<\/p>\n

Tessa came through my front door just after dark carrying a duffel bag and a face so controlled it worried me more than if she had arrived yelling. She hugged me once, carefully, like she was checking for damage she could not yet see. Then she sat across from me at the kitchen table and asked for every detail. Not the emotional version. The exact version. Time. Words. Positioning. Witnesses. Whether there were cameras. Which arm he used first. Who looked away. Who looked scared.<\/p>\n

That was my daughter. Always precise.<\/p>\n

She had spent years in Naval Special Warfare support operations, later moving into high-level tactical assignments most people would never hear about directly. I did not ask questions I knew she could not answer, and she never bragged about what she did. But I knew enough to understand one thing: when Tessa became that calm, somebody dangerous was about to lose control of the situation.<\/p>\n

The next day, she started pulling threads.<\/p>\n

She met quietly with an old contact in the FBI, a man named Daniel Price, who had been collecting whispers about Boone Mercer for months: extortion disguised as \u201ctown fines,\u201d seized property that never made it into evidence, business owners pressured into cash payments, and favors traded through the sheriff\u2019s office like they were official currency. Boone had not just assaulted me. He had finally done something visible enough to open a door people had been too frightened to push.<\/p>\n

Tessa found the weak point faster than I expected.<\/p>\n

It was Boone\u2019s deputy, Travis Bell.<\/p>\n

Bell was not innocent, but he was nervous in the way guilty men become when they realize the strongest man in the room might not stay strongest much longer. Tessa cornered him with facts, dates, names, and one question he could not answer without implicating himself. By the end of that meeting, Bell agreed to wear a wire.<\/p>\n

I asked her if that meant I should stay out of it.<\/p>\n

She looked at me and said, \u201cNo, Dad. It means you\u2019re coming back to the diner.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought she was joking.<\/p>\n

She wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

The next morning, she drove me to Maple Street Diner and sat me down in the exact same booth Boone had claimed as his own throne. She took the seat across from me and ordered coffee like this was any normal breakfast. Bell was already there, jittery, pretending to read a newspaper with a microphone taped under his shirt. Two people at the counter were federal agents dressed like linemen. I only knew because Tessa told me where not to look.<\/p>\n

Then the front bell rang.<\/p>\n

Boone Mercer walked in.<\/p>\n

He saw me first.<\/p>\n

Then he saw my daughter.<\/p>\n

And the smile that crossed his face told me he believed fear was still the strongest thing in that room.<\/p>\n

He had no idea every word he spoke next would help bury him.<\/p>\n

\n

Part 3<\/strong><\/p>\n

Boone stopped at our booth and let the silence stretch, enjoying it the way cruel men enjoy making other people wait for pain.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d he said, staring at the bandage near my hairline, \u201clooks like the old man learned slow.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tessa didn\u2019t stand. She didn\u2019t raise her voice. She just lifted her coffee cup, took one sip, and said, \u201cYou should be more careful about what you do in public.\u201d<\/p>\n

Boone laughed. \u201cAnd you should be more careful who you talk to in my town.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the thing about men like Boone Mercer. They mistake survival for ownership. He thought the badge made the diner his. The town his. The law his. He leaned one hand on our table and started talking the way bullies do when they think witnesses are allies and consequences are rumors. He insulted me, mocked my age, hinted that next time a fall might become something worse. Then he turned his attention to Tessa and made the kind of threat a man only makes when he has never been stopped early enough in life.<\/p>\n

He reached for her shoulder.<\/p>\n

He never got farther than that.<\/p>\n

One second he was looming over the table, full of confidence. The next, Tessa moved.<\/p>\n

It happened so fast most people in the diner gasped after it was already over. She trapped his wrist, rotated through his balance, stepped cleanly off the booth line, and drove him face-first into the edge of the table before controlling him down across the floor. His own momentum did most of the work. He hit hard enough to split his lip and stun himself. By the time he understood he was on the ground, Tessa had his arm pinned behind his back and one knee locking his shoulder in place.<\/p>\n

Nobody in the diner spoke.<\/p>\n

Boone tried to thrash. That only made it worse.<\/p>\n

Tessa leaned close enough for him to hear her and said, \u201cThat was the polite version.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then the front door opened again.<\/p>\n

FBI agents came in from both sides, fast and organized, badges out, commands sharp. Deputy Bell stood up so abruptly his chair tipped backward. Donna, the waitress, put a hand over her mouth. Boone looked from Tessa to the agents to Bell and finally understood what was happening. Not just an arrest. A collapse.<\/p>\n

Daniel Price stepped forward, identified himself, and informed Boone Mercer that he was under arrest on federal charges including civil rights violations, extortion conspiracy, evidence tampering, and abuse of office. Bell\u2019s wire had captured Boone repeating his threats, bragging about how nobody in town would testify against him, and mentioning money collections he should never have discussed out loud. Security footage from the diner filled in the rest, including what he had done to me the day before.<\/p>\n

The whole structure cracked after that.<\/p>\n

Search warrants were executed that same week. Files disappeared too late. Accounts were frozen too late. Business owners who had been scared for years suddenly found courage once Boone was in cuffs. They spoke. So did former deputies. Patterns emerged that had been hiding in plain sight: intimidation, side cash, selective enforcement, protected friends, punished enemies. The town had not been quiet because nothing was wrong. It had been quiet because one violent man convinced everyone silence was safer.<\/p>\n

He was convicted.<\/p>\n

Bell cooperated and avoided the worst prison exposure, though he lost his badge and any future tied to authority. The department was restructured under outside oversight. People still argue about whether justice came fast enough. It rarely does. But it came.<\/p>\n

As for me, I went back to Maple Street Diner six weeks later. Same booth. Same coffee. Donna cried when she saw me and said breakfast was on the house. I told her I preferred paying like everyone else. There is a kind of dignity in ordinary things after violence tries to make you feel small.<\/p>\n

Tessa stayed in town a little longer than usual after that. We sat on my porch in the evenings and talked about everything except the parts of her work she could never fully tell me. I did not need the classified version. I had already seen enough. My daughter loved me fiercely, but more than that, she understood something Boone never did: strength is not domination. Strength is protection.<\/p>\n

That town breathes differently now.<\/p>\n

So do I.<\/p>\n

If this story meant something to you, share it, speak up, protect the vulnerable, honor courage, and never normalize small-town tyranny.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Part 1 My name is Walter Hayes. I am seventy-two years old, a Vietnam veteran, a retired postal worker, and the kind of man who still believes a quiet breakfast should remain quiet if you mind your business and treat people decently. That morning, I was sitting in my usual corner booth at Maple Street […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":38414,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-38411","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-new"],"yoast_head":"\n\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d - I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner - Purposeful Days<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d - I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner - Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Part 1 My name is Walter Hayes. I am seventy-two years old, a Vietnam veteran, a retired postal worker, and the kind of man who still believes a quiet breakfast should remain quiet if you mind your business and treat people decently. That morning, I was sitting in my usual corner booth at Maple Street […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-04-05T17:12:57+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Cac_nhan_vat_202604060012.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"SEAL 2026\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"SEAL 2026\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"9 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411\",\"name\":\"\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d - I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner - Purposeful Days\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Cac_nhan_vat_202604060012.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-04-05T17:12:57+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8962ef3bd82f38b43f0d59758c27a012\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Cac_nhan_vat_202604060012.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Cac_nhan_vat_202604060012.jpg\",\"width\":1000,\"height\":1000},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d – I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\",\"name\":\"Purposeful Days\",\"description\":\"\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8962ef3bd82f38b43f0d59758c27a012\",\"name\":\"SEAL 2026\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/c297d024d39dae4f7637d37b25d3d1ff646b9b7b18dd2522d7393826cd189944?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/c297d024d39dae4f7637d37b25d3d1ff646b9b7b18dd2522d7393826cd189944?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"SEAL 2026\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=5\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d - I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner - Purposeful Days","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d - I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner - Purposeful Days","og_description":"Part 1 My name is Walter Hayes. I am seventy-two years old, a Vietnam veteran, a retired postal worker, and the kind of man who still believes a quiet breakfast should remain quiet if you mind your business and treat people decently. That morning, I was sitting in my usual corner booth at Maple Street […]","og_url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411","og_site_name":"Purposeful Days","article_published_time":"2026-04-05T17:12:57+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1000,"height":1000,"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Cac_nhan_vat_202604060012.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"SEAL 2026","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"SEAL 2026","Est. reading time":"9 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411","name":"\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d - I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner - Purposeful Days","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Cac_nhan_vat_202604060012.jpg","datePublished":"2026-04-05T17:12:57+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8962ef3bd82f38b43f0d59758c27a012"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Cac_nhan_vat_202604060012.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/04\/Cac_nhan_vat_202604060012.jpg","width":1000,"height":1000},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=38411#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"\u201cHe finally put hands on me.\u201d – I Called My Daughter After the Sheriff Threw Me Across the Diner"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/","name":"Purposeful Days","description":"","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/8962ef3bd82f38b43f0d59758c27a012","name":"SEAL 2026","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/c297d024d39dae4f7637d37b25d3d1ff646b9b7b18dd2522d7393826cd189944?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/c297d024d39dae4f7637d37b25d3d1ff646b9b7b18dd2522d7393826cd189944?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"SEAL 2026"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org"],"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=5"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38411","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=38411"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38411\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":38415,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38411\/revisions\/38415"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/38414"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=38411"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=38411"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=38411"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}