The kids wanted to go for a four-wheeler ride. My son Nelson took our ATV (his brother was at soccer!) while my sister’s two kids had to… steal Grandpa’s. It was fine. Kind of. Grandpa wasn’t around but they had to go soon if they were going. It was late in the afternoon. So a decision was made that they could take it. Dad would be totally fine with it. Maybe.
The next problem: Max and Brook would have to ride double on Grandpa’s.
“Wait, that’s illegal,” I said.
“No it’s not,” said Kerry, who does not, for the record, own a four-wheeler. Regardless, the kids set out on a sunny March afternoon.
We decided to go for a dog walk. Everyone was happy.
But about 30 minutes in, I noticed I’d missed two phone calls from Nelson. Interesting.
I called him back. No answer. More interesting.
“Do you think they’re in trouble?” I asked.
“How could you not hear it ring?” asked Kerry, who, for the record, hadn’t even brought her phone.
At a slightly more aerobic pace, we headed for home. Wait. We heard four wheelers in the distance!
We saw them coming down the shoulder of the road and turning into Kerry’s driveway up ahead of us. Relief!
Until we saw a conservation officer pull in behind them.
What followed next was not our best mom moment. In quick succession, without even knowing why they’d been escorted home, we debated: The cop would lecture them, but he would ticket us. Two separate problems. But only one of which would cost us money.
“Keep walking!” Kerry said.
“OK,” I agreed. “They need to learn their lesson!”
But agreeing with Kerry is as good as disagreeing with her. She then insisted we go back. “We need to save them!” she shrieked.
We were standing, facing each other, holding each other’s arms and tugging back and forth. Go and help? Wait and let them learn? Suddenly, we realized the officer was probably watching us wrestle. We had no choice but to turn ourselves in. We walked up, feigning surprise, outstanding citizens.
Facing the music
The officer put down his truck window and started with this:
“The world would be a better place if there were more kids like yours.”
It was another wrestling match—internally. Actions and words were not meshing.
“But… what did they do?” I finally managed, taking responsibility for my offspring at last.
“I pulled them over for riding double,” he said.
Things were adding up now. (Most importantly that I was right about the riding double thing.)
“But they were so polite about it,” the officer said. “Such nice kids, outside enjoying themselves.”
We didn’t know what to say. He hauled them in but was letting them off!
We were in love with him, our children, the March day and the fact that we’d decided to come clean. When he had stopped them for riding double, they had tried to call home for a ride. But when they couldn’t reach us (burst of shame in our chests), the officer, by law, had to escort them home.
For some reason, this conversation was lovely. Our kids had been commandeered by a cop and yet we were enjoying ourselves. He said that Brook waved to him several times on the ride home, perched on the back of the stolen four-wheeler. We laughed!
But when he said that Nelson had been “drifting” on all the corners right in front of him, we decided it was time to get that good man on his way home.
Off the CO went. And there the kids sat in the driveway, waiting to be grounded for life, waiting to tell the story of their lives.
Max, the only one who’d had to produce his ID for the cop, started with: “I could have gotten a misdemeanor!” Fear and pride in his words.
“I told you guys it was illegal!” I said (again).
“You are so lucky you didn’t get a ticket!” Kerry said.
And they were lucky. Lucky that Grandpa hadn’t been here to see it go down.
Grandpa Returns
Which is just when Grandpa pulled into the driveway, having spotted his (stolen) four-wheeler.
We couldn’t believe his timing. Before he got out of the car, we turned to the kids and hissed, “You’re dead now.”
At this point, we were having a LOT of fun at the expense of our children. High on our escape, we couldn’t care less what Dad did to the kids. They deserved the same iron fist he’d ruled with when we were kids. It would be fun to watch.
But as the story unfolded, Dad started focusing entirely too much on us.
“But you know it’s illegal!” he said to us.
“I did,” became a very weak calling card for me.
The kids didn’t even get a lecture. We, however, found out that you can still get grounded at 43.
We’ll be let out sometime in May.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad!
This was the editorial for the GTWoman Mar/April 2018 issue. The full issue is here.