Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Friday, August 11, 2006
growth
I picture to myself the woman that I want to become. She is prettier, kinder, wiser, more patient and more faithful than I. Yet I do not despair. I was once small and weak, not able to walk or talk, crying whenever things did not go my way, and I could not control the simplest bodily function. And that was only twenty-one years ago. It is encouraging to see how far I have come.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
i fought the law
I looked into my rear-view mirror at the beautiful display of red and blue flashing lights. Ah, Heckle! ~as Emilie would say. I pulled to the side, still maintaining one hand on the bag of Wendy's takeout to make sure it doesn't fall over. I put the car in park and rolled down my window. Officer Ought-to-be-retired walked up to my window and politely introduced himself.
"I'm Officer Ought-to-be-retired, with the BYU police." Crap, a rent-a-cop; I couldn't drop Jason's name. "Have you been warned about stop signs before?" he asked after requesting my license and registration.
Well sure, I thought. Someone's told me before that they exist. I just never believed it. "No," I replied distractedly as I rummaged through my purse. Why haven't I cleaned this thing out! I berated myself as I searched every pocket before finding my license.
"And are you aware of the speed limit through here?" I paused in my quest through the glove compartment and stared at the street in front of me, looking for such help as a speed limit sign. I must have passed it. "It's twenty-five in residential areas."
"Oh. I thought it was thirty." But, now that you mention it, I think I have seen signs with those numbers on them during my drive through this neighborhood each day. Huh.
I handed him my undignified bent copy of the registration and an even more bedraggled insurance paper. I guess I need to clean out Dad's glove compartment as well. I mentioned inanely that this wasn't my car, just so the polite old man would know that I would have kept my papers in better order. Yeah, I thought, just look at my purse.
"I'll be right back."
"Stupid BYU." I slapped a hand to my mouth. Why can't I just not say things I think? And why when I do say them do I have absolutely no control over my volume? Luckily he had already walked away, and I was left to consider my behavior toward an officer of the law.
I used to be awed and intimidated by police officers in their pressed uniforms and shiny badges. When I was five I got an officer's signature for a book of autographs I had. The awe wore off, replaced by pure hatred. Cops were bullies, I decided, after one pushed his way through my front door and me to drag a scared little girl back to her abusive parents. I had held my ground against men with guns and watched them do the wrong thing in the name of the law. Power hungry, gun-slinging play-ground bullies.
Except Jason. He has done what I had thought since the age of sixteen to be impossible; he made me respect law enforcement again. Jason believes in honor and duty and tasers. Plus he gave me a get out of jail free card when he told me I can drop his name if I get pulled over. I never got a chance to use that privilege, so for a moment I was excited that I had California-rolled my way through a stop sign, until I remembered that I was on campus.
While Jason's contempt for the BYU cops is palpable, my own was secured independently of his opinion. I remember too clearly being pulled over by The Beat on my way to class one early morning. I was late and in a rush. The car pulled up beside me and waved me to the side. Oh yes, and I was on foot. Jay walking! the cop cried, not bothering to exit his vehicle. I merely gave him a scathing look and walked away. Let him get out and chase me, I thought, I have a paper to turn in. He didn't chase me, and I haven't respected the over-inflated security guards since.
The officer returned to my window. "I've written this down as a warning," he said. "For the stop sign and the speed. You know-" he gave me a fatherly look- "you only dropped down to eight miles an hour before you continued through the stop sign. I should write you a ticket..."
But we both know you're not going to, I finished for him in my head. I took the papers, restored them to their rightful piles, and pulled away from the curb, making sure to complete my stop before turning left. Next time, I won't take a short-cut through campus.
"I'm Officer Ought-to-be-retired, with the BYU police." Crap, a rent-a-cop; I couldn't drop Jason's name. "Have you been warned about stop signs before?" he asked after requesting my license and registration.
Well sure, I thought. Someone's told me before that they exist. I just never believed it. "No," I replied distractedly as I rummaged through my purse. Why haven't I cleaned this thing out! I berated myself as I searched every pocket before finding my license.
"And are you aware of the speed limit through here?" I paused in my quest through the glove compartment and stared at the street in front of me, looking for such help as a speed limit sign. I must have passed it. "It's twenty-five in residential areas."
"Oh. I thought it was thirty." But, now that you mention it, I think I have seen signs with those numbers on them during my drive through this neighborhood each day. Huh.
I handed him my undignified bent copy of the registration and an even more bedraggled insurance paper. I guess I need to clean out Dad's glove compartment as well. I mentioned inanely that this wasn't my car, just so the polite old man would know that I would have kept my papers in better order. Yeah, I thought, just look at my purse.
"I'll be right back."
"Stupid BYU." I slapped a hand to my mouth. Why can't I just not say things I think? And why when I do say them do I have absolutely no control over my volume? Luckily he had already walked away, and I was left to consider my behavior toward an officer of the law.
I used to be awed and intimidated by police officers in their pressed uniforms and shiny badges. When I was five I got an officer's signature for a book of autographs I had. The awe wore off, replaced by pure hatred. Cops were bullies, I decided, after one pushed his way through my front door and me to drag a scared little girl back to her abusive parents. I had held my ground against men with guns and watched them do the wrong thing in the name of the law. Power hungry, gun-slinging play-ground bullies.
Except Jason. He has done what I had thought since the age of sixteen to be impossible; he made me respect law enforcement again. Jason believes in honor and duty and tasers. Plus he gave me a get out of jail free card when he told me I can drop his name if I get pulled over. I never got a chance to use that privilege, so for a moment I was excited that I had California-rolled my way through a stop sign, until I remembered that I was on campus.
While Jason's contempt for the BYU cops is palpable, my own was secured independently of his opinion. I remember too clearly being pulled over by The Beat on my way to class one early morning. I was late and in a rush. The car pulled up beside me and waved me to the side. Oh yes, and I was on foot. Jay walking! the cop cried, not bothering to exit his vehicle. I merely gave him a scathing look and walked away. Let him get out and chase me, I thought, I have a paper to turn in. He didn't chase me, and I haven't respected the over-inflated security guards since.
The officer returned to my window. "I've written this down as a warning," he said. "For the stop sign and the speed. You know-" he gave me a fatherly look- "you only dropped down to eight miles an hour before you continued through the stop sign. I should write you a ticket..."
But we both know you're not going to, I finished for him in my head. I took the papers, restored them to their rightful piles, and pulled away from the curb, making sure to complete my stop before turning left. Next time, I won't take a short-cut through campus.
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