Themusingwell's Blog

October 26, 2009

New In Town: Hello, This is Constable Smith about your daughter…

Filed under: Uncategorized — WeeBanshee @ 9:30 pm


Nothing like acquainting oneself with the local police force upon moving to a new city…

My daughter and I are at a crossroads.  She is desperate for some “grown up” independence and I am holding on to her childhood for dear life.  I am letting out the rope very slowly. 

New city, new rules and some concessions from her over-protective mother.  A big one:  allowing her to go to the beach with a couple of friends after school.  So, in mid-September, when the boardwalk and beach were still busy she met some friends for a late afternoon swim.   She was to be home at 7:30 and they were to stay on the populated beach.

 I hovered nervously until I was caught and shooed away.  I took Boomer to the dog beach but I threw the ball half-heartedly; I kept looking for the girls.  I pretended to walk casually down the boardwalk.  I fretted and worried, but finally told myself I was being stupid.  I crossed Lake Shore and headed back to our temporary abode, poured a glass of wine, prepared to relax.  Of course, my cell phone rang, portent of doom.

 I recognized neither the number nor the male voice. He asked me if I was K’s mother.  He then introduced himself as Constable So-and-So.  I think it’s fair to say my heart beat picked up a pace.   “This is about your daughter…”

 As I raced down the boardwalk, pushing joggers and old ladies with walkers out of my path, I pondered what face I would wear when I got to the police cruiser that my daughter and her friends were sitting in at age 11.  Would I yell?  Would I do the unthinkable and cry or would I be stony faced and silent?  Should I call the husband?  That brought a smile to my face; I’d let K do the telling…

 I found the girls, not in the back of the cruiser but draped over the hood like three Sirens on a Greek isle.  Cell phone cameras were snapping photos of the very handsome officers (who were trying, in vain, to keep straight faces).  The story was that some boys had been throwing rocks and generally harassing them.   K was hit in the collarbone, her friend in the face.  The boys fled.

 The girls did right by seeking help and no one was worse for wear (except me who required more than one glass of wine to calm down later).  In fact, the next day, they were back at the beach with a friend’s 15 year old brother as reluctant bodyguard.   I figured he was a better choice than a petite 40-something, semi-hysterical mother and an elderly dog.  Rumour has it that  80 year old that I knocked off the boardwalk is still looking for me.  I’m laying low.


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