The flashers on the front of deputyís car made my stomach sink
I was zipping to work, my mind already plotting out the day, when I met the Houston County squad car on the curve below the Robert Snodgrass home on County Road 3.
A quick glance at my speedometer confirmed my midsectionís queasiness.
Letís just say I wasnít going 55.
ìPlease please please,î I said to myself as I slowed down and kept going. I scanned my rear view mirror for the next mile into town, expecting to see bright lights blinking in my rear view mirror.
But that didnít happen. The deputy had made his point with the electronic fireworks display from the front of his car. I had slowed down. I had been warned, and I really appreciated that that was all I received.
It came in handy the next morning too. There I was, at the open stretch of highway by David Jenningsí home. Of course I was in a hurry again. Arenít we all. It was tempting.
But I didnít speed. And I had a sneaking suspicion. . .
Sure enough, a couple miles further, a squad car faced me. It was close to a spot where it often sits, only this time it was on the other side of the road, in the ditch. All I could see was the top two feet of the car. Iíve seen turkey hunters that didnít blend into the landscape as well as that deputy. He should have received the Best Stake Out Speed Trap Award from the Minnesota Association of County Deputies.
This little incident pointed out a lesson to me: sometimes a warning is all a person needs to correct their behavior.
Iím not saying punishment is a bad thing. But Iíve been in more than a few incidents where I learned my lesson with a warning or a rebuke.
There was that time my brother and I got caught smoking cigarettes. Rita Grams actually figured it out, after first getting a confession from her son, Randy, who sang like a canary. That led to our clubhouse gang in the sumac trees above the root beer stand.
My sister Kathy just happened to be car-hopping at the root beer stand that afternoon. She watched us walk dejectedly down the hill, and she listened to our pleas of amnesty with a glint in her eyes. ìNo way,î she said.
We knew when her shift ended at 7 p.m. that she would tell Mom. The intervening three hours were the longest of my life. Of course we couldnít confess. We moped around the yard like dead men walking.
Sure enough, shortly after Kathy arrived home, Mom summoned us into the house. I canít remember her exact words. Something like, ìWhy did you smoke. Itís bad for you. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Donít do that again.î Good mother lines, classics.
And that was it. No punishment beyond the Longest Day that we had just experienced. Perhaps she saw that in our eyes and knew it: a warning was enough.
And then there was the time ñ oh enough! You get the point.
Sometimes penalties are good,
And punishment is nice.
But donít forget there are those days
When warnings will suffice.

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Caledonia Argus
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