A text message sent by my teen daughter, not thirty minutes after she left for astronomy class. WTF!? Had she gotten into an accident? Was she pulled over for a driving offense? Did she get another parking ticket?
What’s going on? I texted back.
Silence.
I shifted into worried-dad overdrive. I figured I could drive to her class, and if she was there, I'd have nothing to worry about. But if that was the case and she was fine, she would have texted me back.
If she wasn't in class, no telling where she might be. She had her own loopy ways of getting around. I wondered – was she experiencing her own Book ‘em, Danno moment?
I've been pulled over a few times in my life. Running a stop sign when I was sixteen (I contested it in court, and won!) Speeding in my twenties (traffic school for me.) Plus two sobriety checks as an adult (I was totally sober both times. Cops get bored around here.)
I figured if my daughter had the wherewithal to text me about the police, she couldn't be that far gone.
Unless she was in custody, and that lone text was her one phone call.
Two hours later, my daughter came home from class.
“What happened with the police?” I asked.
“Our instructor was playing some song in class, and I was trying to guess who it was,” she said. “It sounded like Sting, but I couldn't remember the band he was in. And then the instructor told us!”
The Police.
“Why did you text me that?” I asked.
“I thought you'd be excited,” she said. “I know you like them.”
Thoughtful of her, though I could have used a bit longer text message.
“Okay, what was the song,” I said.
“It’s astronomy class,” she said. Then she grinned. “Walking on the Moon
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