Category Archives: morning

Michael has been spelling everything lately, or asking what is spelled by letters he sees.

Sometimes he’ll ask things like “What’s T…R…O…U…B…L…E spell?” But more often, his question is more focused on a single letter within a word. “What ‘W’ doos?” he’ll ask. In other words, “What does the letter ‘W’ do in this word?”

He’ll find letters everywhere, all over. Inside of refrigerators, on shoes, on toys, on signs, under tables, behind doors, on his friends’ clothes, etc. “What ‘G’ doos? What ‘C’ doos? What ‘H’ doos?”

Grammar hitch aside, I think this is a great step for him. He’s interested in learning to read, and to spell. He already can spell ON and OFF, and knows what an EXIT sign means, and knows what LOVE spells, and what OPEN means. He knows that ‘M’ is for Michael, and that it’s also for Monster, and Monkey.

And of course, let us not forget that his first and favorite word to spell is STOP. He learned that long ago while looking at stop signs, and his zeal for spelling this word has not diminished.

So I find it quite ironic that the other day on my way to pick him up, I should happen to run afoul of a stop sign near Ms K’s home.

It’s a four way stop that is usually fairly heavily traveled. On this particular day, though, I had arrived about an hour earlier than usual, and as such was not met with the usual level of traffic. Thus, I was primed and ready for my run-in with the law.

As I approached this particular intersection, deep in concentration listening to the nutjob on the radio go on and on about miracle seeds providing health benefits heretofore unknown to modern medicine, I lazily braked to a substantial slowdown, and using my superior peripheral vision to make the quick determination that no pedestrians or other cars were in mortal peril, I continued on around the corner. To my credit, I had my blinker on. I always use my blinker.

Wish I’d used my brake pedal a little more. Because this time, the sheriff’s patrol was alertly on duty.

As I finished my turn and straightened out, the rear view mirror began to sparkle with the unmistakable wag lights and blue and red flashing lights of a police car. My insides quickly dissolved as I searched for a safe place to pull off.

Naturally, my first turn was onto Ms K’s street, so that’s where we ended up. Right out in front of my son’s daycare. For God and everyone to witness.

I calmly reasoned with myself that if I was a good little citizen I could get off with a warning. I would behave myself and give the nice officers no reason at all to think ill of me. After all – I was wearing my seatbelt, all my taillights are working, I pulled right over for them, and by golly I used my blinker at that intersection!

While they ran my plates to see whether I was a convicted felon, I calmly pulled out of my glove box the registration and proof of insurance for the van (I must thank my dear wife for making these two pieces of information incredibly easy to access), and pulled my license out of my wallet. Then I rolled down the window, put my hands up on the wheel, and waited patiently for them.

Note to all you would-be evildoers: this is how you handle yourself during a traffic stop. Get your papers ready and keep your hands where they can see them. And turn off the gangsta rap.

Pretty soon I noticed that the people in the neighborhood, kids and adults alike, were no longer going about their usual afternoon tasks. They were instead instantly rendered motionless where they stood, faces wearing identical expressions of wide-eyed, open-mouthed incredulity. I was certain that across the street, all of the kids and teachers in Ms K’s center were lined up at the front window staring at the crime action unfolding in their hood.

I wished at that point I could melt into the seat.

Finally an officer approached the vehicle (making sure to stand behind the B post, in case I was packing a roscoe). “Good afternoon sir,” he said. So polite. “Is there any particular reason you ran that stop sign back there?”

I racked my brain to come up with a particular reason. “Well, officer, those three beers I just had are making it really hard for me to decide whether it’s because of years of pent-up road rage or because I just don’t care about the MAN and his RULES!”

I didn’t say that. Instead, I said “Not really, I guess I thought I did. I’m just here picking up my son.”

“Yeah, well, you just rolled right on through it. You didn’t even do a good California Stop,” he said.

“Hey now, wait just a minute! I’m from California. I think I ought to know how to execute a proper California Stop!”

But I didn’t say that either.

Instead, I let him talk. “Okay, we’re gonna go ahead and issue you a citation,” he said, and went on to explain my options. I opted for the simple one: just pay the dang fine.

After their incredibly polite delivery of my $242 dollar ticket (precisely the amount that the character “Tom” from “It’s A Wonderful Life” had in his account at the Building and Loan, I mused), they let me go on my own recognizance. Hooray! Another day free from the clutches of the hooskow.

I proceeded forward to the end of the cul-de-sac and went on to re-park the car on the proper side of the street before retrieving my son.

Fortunately for me, no one inside the building had noticed me getting busted. I did learn, however, that several other parents and even one of the teachers had gotten nabbed at that same intersection. I guess it’s a good place to nab scofflaws.

So now, when I approach that intersection, I take my cue from Michael: S T O P spells STOP SIGN, and I come to a full and complete stop.