While I was in Victoria, British Columbia, at a speaking gig, Elysha took the children to Newport, Rhode Island, for a couple of days to explore the mansions.
On the way home, Elysha’s tire went flat on Route 2 in Colchester, Connecticut. After calling AAA for a tow, she reconsidered and decided to call the state police, worried that their position on the side of the highway was dangerous. The police arrived, arranged for a tow, then drove Elysha and the kids to the state police barracks, where they were later picked up by a friend.
This meant that my family was given a ride in a police car, which was a first for all of them. The police officer even allowed Charlie to hold a set of handcuffs.
When I got home a couple of days later, Charlie told me all about the adventure.
“Now we’ve all been in a police car, Dad,” he declared with a little too much glee. “Except that you’ve been in a police car way more times than us, and you were under arrest during all of your rides!”
I pointed out to Charlie that I was only under arrest twice while in the back of a police car. I was a minor during my other three trips in a police cruiser, so I wasn’t technically under arrest. I was merely being driven home by the police after doing inadvisable and less-than-legal things.
“And I got to hold real handcuffs,” Charlie quickly added, smiling devilishly. “But you were actually handcuffed!”
I attempted to remind Charlie that I was arrested for a crime I did not commit.
Ultimately tried and found not guilty.
Yes, I was handcuffed by the police, but I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Charlie didn’t seem to care. The truth didn’t exactly fit his joyous narrative.
He was having way too much fun.
