My Three Felons

There were three of them, born within three years of each other to a mother who was clueless. Naturally, you would assume that they turned to a life of crime.   You would be right.

Let’s begin with the middle one. (So many things began with the middle one!) Many years ago, he was picked up one summer evening on the suspicion of illegally (underage) transporting, and possibly (probably) drinking, beer. Taken to the station. His parents were notified. The child was remanded to their custody after a pleasant and understanding exchange with the arresting officer.

Two days later, the youngest child was picked up and taken to the station. Seems he was playing on a swing set that didn’t belong to him or any of his young friends. They all ran and escaped capture except for him. He said he was afraid the cops were going to shoot him. His parents were called. We told the officer that we were busy and that they could jolly well keep the suspect for a little while, perhaps giving him some milk and cookies if they were so inclined (they weren’t). Maybe even offer him a little tour of the jail for future reference. After all, we’d just been to the station two short days ago to reclaim the middle child. We needed a break.

Later that summer, the cops caught the oldest child scaling the wall of a house and attempting entry into a second floor bedroom. From the edge of the window sill, the child politely (as he had been taught to do) introduced himself and was cordially acknowledged by the officer. He was asked for his driver’s license, which, regretfully, he didn’t have. He was then asked for the registration of his car, which, also regretfully, he didn’t have since the car he was driving wasn’t his.

Now while this sounds ominous, the explanation was really quite simple.

Seems there was a party in the ‘hood. The young man whose bedroom was being entered wasn’t in attendance and couldn’t be reached by phone. The other party-ers decided he needed to be there so our son was sent to “fetch” him but since our son had walked to the party and didn’t have a car, he borrowed one. Officer wished our son a good evening, told him to be careful climbing down the wall, and went on his way.

Small town, obviously. Kids and parents known to all. A sense of safety and well-being. Trust. Families looking out for each other. Respect for the community, its history and its leadership.

Not to say bad things didn’t happen there. They did and I can tell you every single detail of two overwhelmingly tragic events. Even after all these years.

But, all in all, I think we were very lucky to have had that time, in that town, with our kids, growing up together in that environment.