Coming back from a family vacation a few weeks back, our route home took us past my alma mater. Although I have tried on many occasions to make it back with my family for one of the alumni weekends over the years, the opportunities always seemed to be trumped by one of our kid’s numerous weekend activities. In fact, I hadn’t been back since 1995, a year after my graduation. So, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to make a quick stop to see just how much both the town and school had progressed over the last 18 years.
Although it would be a quick review of my old stomping grounds, I felt that this could also serve as a beneficial and inspirational teaching opportunity for our children. A symbolic visualization on the importance of hard work and education.
Over the years, they have continually listened to me preach about my years in college. The focus, determination, and hard work that it took to not only get to college, but also to graduate. Now they would actually be able to put images to all of those stories and life lessons. They could now physically see my old dorm, the library, the bookstore…maybe even soak in a little of that everyday college environment.
As we drove around the campus, I pointed out all of the places of interest. New and updated buildings and restaurants and the remnants of those no longer around. The sports arena and various surrounding landmarks. Yes, fond memories of the cultural atmosphere of my day. Eventually, we stopped for a few pictures of our kids next to the university sign. After the requisite family photo ops, I found my son continually snapping his own pictures as he spun wildly around in 360s...all while taking in the beauty of the campus. Inside, I was beaming. Both he and our oldest daughter seemed genuinely in awe of their surroundings. I was subtly demanding that this impression be engrained in their psyches as something that they would aspire to.
Unfortunately though, I also subtly demanded that everyone get back to the car as quickly as possible, as I was illegally parked without that Get-Out-of-Jail parking sticker hanging from my mirror. Thinking back over my years there, I disdainfully remember the school’s parking enforcement to be a lot like a pack of circling hyenas. I would run into the post office for 30 seconds and return to a ticket on my windshield. They were frighteningly swift and efficient. Relentless carnivores.
Relieved by the lack of decoration under my windshield wiper this time, we piled back into the car once more to explore the campus further. I thought that maybe, if there was an open parking spot, we could stop and walk into the bookstore. Maybe pick some shirts for the kids.
As I made the right turn into the bookstore lot, however, blue lights suddenly appeared in my rearview mirror.
Seriously? Literally back for fifteen minutes and already getting harassed by campus police again. Guess some things really haven’t changed that much over those 18 years.
I have to admit that I couldn’t have made a better target. A minivan slowly cruising the old ‘hood with the family-tested and approved stick figure decals on the back. Coupled with luggage and toys piled to the ceiling? I probably would have been less conspicuous if I were driving mommy and daddy’s BMW with a big Bob Marley fathead covering the back window.
In my head, I went over exactly what I may have done to prompt this guy to pull me over. I stopped at all of the stop signs, drove well under the speed limit in order to give my kids a chance to look around. Drawing a blank, I started to have a hard time in suppressing my aggravation. As the cop approached the car though, I smiled with some amusement. He looked about as old as my college diploma. I’m pretty sure that I had more hair on my bald, time-eroded head than he had on his wee-tender face.
With my sudden amusement taming my simmering irritation, I started to plan out my story. I was finally visiting the campus after all of these years to show my three impressionable young children where their dad went to school, importance of higher education, proud alum, blah, blah, blah. The whole wide-eyed, idealistic dog-and-pony show.
After the usual “howdy, beautiful day” pleasantries, Officer Doogie Hauser immediately cut to the chase and was nice enough to point out the expired car inspection sticker on my windshield. A full two and a half months expired. My mind raced to conjure up a secondary, fall-back rebuttal, but came up empty. The only thing that tumbled from my idiot lips was a resounding and earth-shattering “wow…it sure is”.
Truthfully, I’d only been looking through that windshield for a better part of the weekend. Why would I bother to notice that bright yellow sticker directly in front of me? Personally, I chalk it up to living in a predominantly rural county for the last eight years. My highly evolved powers of perception have been specifically trained to spot and avoid deer darting across the road, not minding that screaming yellow sticker directly under my oblivious nose.
But alas, I was guilty as charged. After he took my license and registration, the back of the car erupted with nervous chatter. My daughter wanted to know if I was in trouble. My son demanded to know what I did to make the police stop me. My dear wife, obviously choosing a worthy selection from my extensive bibliography of unabashed sarcasm, informed the kids that I would probably only go to jail for five years.
Drowning out the panicked commotion coming from the back of the van though, her sentiment honestly made me stop and think. Surely I couldn’t have any unpaid parking tickets from 20 years ago, right? I looked around, but saw no circling hyenas. It was my inner Buddha that suddenly spoke up and reassured me.
“No, you don’t have any unpaid parking tickets…and don’t call me Shirley.”
While my license and registration were being run, my wife must have read my mind and asked, with amusement, whether or not this was my first encounter with the local law enforcement. Although it took me a couple minutes to file through my outstanding parking ticket situation, it didn’t take me long to sift through a couple of those foggy memories.
There was that time with the open container in my jacket. While not amusing then, it certainly was amusing now. There were also those occasional post-“last call” townie-mountie shake downs while walking back to campus from a favored establishment. More often than not, however, it was the direct result of playing in a college rock band that ultimately seemed to embrace more Richter Scale amplification levels than actual musical substance.
In every instance though, and for cosmic reasons that I still do not fully understand, I was always let off of the hook. A simple warning with a promise to never do “something” again. Perhaps it was my obvious personal charm or powers of persuasion. Or perhaps it’s my symphonic eloquence with the spoken word…
“You’re too loud.”
“Wow, we sure are.”
Regardless, this time would be no exception. Doogie let us off with a warning and a promise to get the car inspected immediately upon returning home. I thanked him and agreed to do so wholeheartedly. Meanwhile, the kids seemed relieved that I wasn’t going to do a five year bid in San Quentin.
“They” say cats have nine lives. If that’s the case, I think that I would probably be the scary hairless kind that likely just used up his last one on this campus. So, with that in mind, it was time to quickly get out of that town yet again. Quickly, yet well under the respective speed limit…
Reflecting back, I’m not entirely sure just how deep those impressions of educational determination and hard work were entrenched in our kids’ minds that afternoon. However, I do believe that they will always remember the campus police and the importance of renewing your car’s inspection sticker.
