Some Days Are Icy

Many years ago, in a town far away....Okay, this town was not really that far away. Just seems like a good way to start a story....

Where was I?  Oh. I was driving.  I was alone and the weather was wicked. Torrential rain turning to ice and ice on the roads building fast. I had my hands at 2 o'clock and 10 o'clock. My shoulders were near my ears.  Maximum travel speed probably 25 mph. Tense.

A stop light about 200 feet ahead turned yellow and I started to brake ever so softly. Thankfully, there were no cars ahead of me because I was not stopping.  I laid on the car horn to alert other drivers and slowly slid right through the intersection, semi-sideways. Finally stopping was sweet pleasure.

Next thing I knew a police car was behind me, flashing his lights. Truthfully, I was relieved to see someone because this slide-through had totally unnerved me.  When he approached my car (walking carefully because it was so slick), I let out a nervous string of babble, "Did you see that?  So scary. I could not stop. This ice is crazy."  The officer gave me a ticket. I was flabbergasted. A ticket?  I wanted a hug for crying out loud.

Depending on your experience, you may know that traffic tickets come with certain options, including a date to appear in court. I went to traffic court. When my name was called, I walked confidently to the judge and announced my plea. "Guilty with an explanation, Your Honor."

I proceeded to give the judge a detailed description of that fateful evening's road conditions, a humble appraisal of my amazing behind the wheel grace under pressure, the impossibility of stopping, and my gratitude that no other cars were involved.

This was a kind and gentle judge.  He looked at me as a father would look at his daughter. He told me that he was sorry for my obviously harrowing experience.  And then he declared me guilty. What?

The judge explained that by law I left him no choice. He had to declare me guilty because I told him I was guilty. Just as the officer had witnessed me illegally going through a stop light.

The judge told me that if I ever appear in court again with a reasonable explanation to never ever plead guilty. What a goofy system. I was suppose to say I did not blow a light when I had blown a light despite an excellent story. How the heck does one know these things?

Yesterday after school I told my 14 year old daughter this story. She was actually intrigued enough to stop texting and listen. Trust me, in our world this is significant. She said, and I quote, "Now that is some story, Mom."

I told her the reason I shared this story with her. I wanted to apologize for something I had said to her several days ago. It was not nice, what I had said, and we both knew it. Why I said what I said did indeed have an explanation.  But I was guilty. I said something hurtful.  Explanation or no explanation did not change that.

So I said, "Sorry."  My daughter responded, "Accepted."  She went back to texting. Can I tell you how much I wanted to give that explanation? However, I knew explaining would serve me, not her. I was the guilty mom, not the offended daughter.

Certainly there are times and situations in which simply saying sorry is not enough. Sometimes it requires us to do a helluva lot more. Other times the two words "I'm sorry" are all that is needed.  God grant me the wisdom to know the difference.

P.S. Never plead "Guilty with an explanation."