I sat there in the minivan wondering what the policeman would say when he came back from his cruiser. I replayed the event in my head.

After a hearty and heart-stopping meal with my family, Ben and I got on the road to see his mommy and her side. Yes, the denotations “his side” and “her side” lose importance over the years, as I consider hers mine and vice versa, but I use it here for clarity.

I tooled along at about 60 mph in a 55 mph zone (that’s 96.5 km/hr and 88.5 km/hr, respectively, for the metric people) to a small town where my late grandfather used to preach at a very small church. Knowing the town was coming up, I slowed to a respectable rate and made my way around the town’s sharp curve at about 35 mph (go get the wonderful, free, and easy Converber if you really need the conversion). I glanced over at the small church where for decades my grandfather humbly delivered the Bible’s lessons to the people. Though not my home church as a child, I attended Vacation Bible School there many times.

To prove it, I still have a wooden plaque bearing my name in uncooked macaroni. Who knew Elmer’s Glue had such staying power?

A hundred yards shy of leaving the city limits, I noticed flashing blue lights in my rear view mirror. “Oh, no,” I said. Oh, #$%@^% $%@$% Q$^%!!, I thought.

I pulled into City Hall’s parking lot. I had stopped there many times, back when the building housed Uncle Fudge’s Grocery.

As the police car slowed to a stop behind me, I worked to get the registration and proof of insurance out of the glove compartment. Oddly, Shannon did not have it all in the pouch with the van’s owner’s manual. I slid my window down to get ready for the inevitable, then started digging through the pile of papers in my lap.

“Sir, I’m Ray Scar, Guy PD. I pulled you over because you were going 61 in a 40 back there.” I’m not using his real name.

“I was?” It was honest. I had no idea.

“Daddy, I need my blankie,” Ben said.

“I’m sorry, Ben, I can’t stop and get your blankie right now. I’m looking for something very important. I’ll get it as soon as I can.” Good timing, boy. Now I’m the good daddy. I owe you a piece of candy.

“Back there by the school, I clocked you at 61, and then at the top of that hill, at 62.”

“That’s back when you first get into town? I’m not from around here, so I guess I’m not familiar with exactly where the speed limit drops. We just finished eating at that catfish place on the other side of Quitman, on the way to see more family in Little Rock.” Shut up. He doesn’t need to know that. “I made sure to slow down through town. How fast was I going there?” A bit of a stretch, perhaps, but technically I’m not from around there any more, and signs can change.

“I don’t know because I was trying to catch up to you.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, I guess you don’t want to rip through town trying to flag somebody down for speeding.” I found the proof of insurance and the registration, and handed them to him along with my driver’s license. “Found it. Here you go.”

“Thank you, sir, I’ll be right back,” Ray Scar said.

“Daddy, I miss Mommy.”

“I know, son. I do, too. We’re on our way to see her as soon as we get back on the road.”

A few minutes later, the officer again sidled up next to the van. “Well, Mr. Williams, you don’t have any tickets, and I don’t want to start your weekend off by giving you one.”

“Thank you, officer, I appreciate that.”

“Just watch your speed and be careful.”

“I will.” I extended my hand. “Thanks again.”

We shook on it.

“Have a good day,” he said.

“You too. Thanks.”

Before putting the van back into Drive, I noticed I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. I must have unbuckled it when reaching for the glove compartment. In Arkansas driving without a seatbelt is not something for which a driver can be pulled over, but a hefty fine goes with it if an officer notices it during a traffic stop. I lucked out there, too, and will remember to leave it buckled if I’m pulled over again.

Oddly, Ben didn’t ask who the man was, nor why we stopped. Did he understand what was going on just from our conversation? I doubted it then, and still do.

I’ll never understand people who shoot their mouths off when policemen pull them over. If he’s a nice cop, it will just make him (or her) more likely to give you a ticket. If she’s a mean cop, then she’s just more likely to haul you in. Okay, I meant to switch gender there to keep it even, but somehow I made the male look nice and the female look mean.

Oops.

My point is… it doesn’t pay to be an idiot. Of the approximately 10 times I’ve been pulled over in my life (not just for speeding, but not for drunk driving, either), I have received a ticket only once. That reminds me of an incident in a shady Little Rock neighborhood. But that story’s for another day.