David Lindsey submitted this.
The following is a short story that illustrates the need for us to keep our
speed down when driving. I'm not sure whether or not it's a true story, but
it still gets the point across.
.....................................................
Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a 55 zone.
The flashing red in his rearview mirror insisted he pull over quickly.
Fourth time in as many months. How could a guy get caught so often?
He slumped into his seat, the collar of his trench coat covering his ears. He
tapped the steering wheel, doing his best to look bored, his eyes on the mirror.
The cop was stepping out of his car, the big pad in hand.
Bob? Bob from church? Jack sunk farther into his trench coat. This was worse
than the coming ticket. A cop catching a guy from his own church! A guy who
happened to be a little eager to get home after a long day at the office. A
guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow.
Jack decided to step out of the car, and approached a man he saw every Sunday,
a man he'd never seen in uniform.
"Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this."
"Hello, Jack." No smile.
"Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids."
"Yeah, I guess." Bob seemed uncertain. Good.
"I've seen some long days at the office lately. I'm afraid I bent the rules
a bit." Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement. Diane said something about
roast beef and potatoes tonight. Know what I mean?"
"I know what you mean. I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct."
Ouch. This was not going in the right direction. Time to change tactics.
"What'd you clock me at?"
"Seventy-one. Would you sit back in your car, please?"
"Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as I saw you. I was barely
nudging 65."
"Please, Jack, in the car."
Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door.
Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard. He was in no rush to open the
window.
The minutes ticked by. Bob scribbled away on the pad. Why hadn't he asked for
a driver's license?
Whatever the reason, it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near
this cop again.
A tap on the door jerked his head to the left. There was Bob, a folded paper
in hand. Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches, just enough room for
Bob to pass him the slip.
"Thanks." Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice.
Bob returned to his car without a word.
Jack watched his retreat in the mirror, bottom teeth scratching his upper lip.
When Bob vanished inside his car, Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How much
was this one going to cost?
Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of joke? Certainly not a ticket.
Jack began to read:
Dear Jack,
Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was only 6 years old when killed by a
car. You guessed it--a speeding driver. A fine and three months in jail, and
the man was free. Free to hug his daughters. All 3 of them. I only had one,
and I will never be able to ever hug her again. A thousand times I've tried
to forgive that man. A thousand times I thought I had, Maybe I did, but I need
to do it again. Even now.
Please pray for me, Jack. And be careful. My son is all I have left.
Yours truly,
Bob
Jack shifted uncomfortably in his trench coat. Then he twisted around in time
to see Bob's car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared.
A full 15 minutes later, he, too, pulled away and drove slowly home, praying
for forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived.
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