Just Give Me The Ticket

If there's one thing my parents taught me, it's that marriage  has its ups, it's downs, and it's amber waves of grain.

     Many were the times that during the time change (Spring forward, Fall back), my mother would change the clocks on her way to bed, my father would change them a second time when he joined her an hour or two later, and we found ourselves being early or late to wherever we were going the entire next day.

     Once, when I was but a wee lad, we were on our way somewhere (let's say church, because it sounds good), and we came upon some road construction. A worker, using a flag, waved my father in a different direction and my father obediently did as he was instructed.

      This wasn't lost on my mother.

     "You did what that man with the flag told you to do," she pointed out to my father, who's been known to be stubborn.

     "Of course I did," he said. "He had a flag."

     My mother thought about that.

     "I've got to get a flag," she said.

     That little detour delayed us quite a bit. My father was not a speeder, but he did pride himself on being prompt, so it was no surprise when he was pulled over for speeding.

     "Sorry, officer," my father tried explaining his way out of it, "but you were coming up so fast behind me I didn't have a chance to slow down."

     The police officer didn't buy that, but he did see we were just an average family out for a drive, so he took pity on us.

     "Ma'am," he addressed my mother, "if you promise to watch your husband's driving I'll let you go with a warning."

     My father knew when he was beat.

     "Just give me the ticket," he said.
 
 

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