As a change from my usual blog about writing, today I’m going to talk about my day in court. Well, actually it was my son’s day in court. Now, it’s nothing new for me to be in a courtroom. No, not as a defendant. I work as a crime and courts writer as my day job so I tend to spend a lot of time in court. However, it’s not everyday where I’m related to the defendant.
It seems my eldest son, Jack, or Speedy McGee as I call him now, didn’t notice the school zone last week when he was heading to school. He blew through it at 41, fast enough to be a maniac behind the wheel when it comes to traffic court.
So, there I stand alongside my 16-year-old, lead-footed son, in front of the same judge I see every week in my line of business. Pretty awkward, huh? Not a great way to spend an afternoon. Of course, as first offense, he was given a break and has to go safety school and do five hours public service work. If he was an adult that would have been a $200 ticket.
While it wasn’t a great way to spend a day, I did end up getting the rub, as we call it in wrestling, by the judge when he asked my son, in front of the entire filled courtroom, what his dad had said.
“I don’t get to drive much anymore,” he told the judge, prompting a roar from the court gallery. If nothing else I look like a good ogre. You can’t ask for more than that if you’re a parent.
One good thing did come of it, though. In a rage over the ticket I called a friend who is district manager for a pizza chain. My son’s first day flipping pizzas is Saturday. At least I can get some of the fine money back from discount pizzas. The glass is half full.