Parker and the Policeman

A couple of weeks ago, on one of those warm fall days, I decided to take the kids on a walk. Parker was on his bike, and I specifically told him to not ride ahead, because Fiona and I were on foot. But when I stopped to say hi to a neighbor, he started to zoom ahead, oblivious to my shouts from behind. Visibly frustrated, I scooped Fiona up and jogged  down the street, trying to track him down, because he had made it around the corner and wasn’t slowing down.

Out of nowhere, a police car appeared, and the cop stuck his head out the window and asked, “Is that your son on the bike?” More than a little annoyed, I muttered, “Yes, it is. The kid just doesn’t listen.” He drove away, but as I rounded the bend, I realized that instead of leaving, he drove around the block and pulled up next to Parker. And he didn’t just pull up, but he hit his siren and got out of the car to talk to Parker.

I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty, so I picked up the pace to catch up with them, arriving in time to listen to the cop’s lecture. He told Parker in no uncertain terms that he needed to “listen to his mother”, and that it wasn’t safe for him to ride his bike by himself. He was pretty stern, considering he was talking to a four year old, and I tried to soften his message. You know, like when the cop said, “Don’t you know that a bad person could come by and take you or you could swerve right out into traffic?”, I followed up with, “It’s okay, honey, no one is going to take you…the policeman just wants to make sure you are safe.”

After thoroughly convincing Parker that he shouldn’t ride his bike again until he turned nine, I convinced him that we were okay. Finally he left, leaving me with a blubbering, terrified little boy who refused to ride his bike home, and who didn’t want the “man in the taxi” to come back. His words…”man in the taxi”.

I felt a little traumatized myself, because I did stop to talk for a minute, and shouldn’t have let him get away from me in the first place. Plus, I was actually a little frantic when I realized that he wasn’t stopping, and running with a 30 pound toddler on your hip isn’t really very effective.

But I felt worse for Parker, who didn’t stop crying for at least an hour, and I wondered if he was permanently scarred.

Now that a few weeks has passed, he has forgotten about it, and I can think about it and chuckle. He looked so forlorn sitting there on his little bike…and the cop looked so formidable standing there with his arms folded. And it was really quite impressive that he took the time to “help me out” in teaching my son a lesson. Can’t say that I would recommend it for your four-year-old…Parker has been freaking out when he hears sirens…Thanks Mr. Taxi Driver…