My Life as a Perp

The music: Bad Reputation, by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Lately, my permanent record has been taking a beating. Yesterday I came home to find, in my mailbox, a "False Alarm Citation and Warning: False Alarm of Automatic Response Alarm Systems" because one week prior, I had inadvertently set off my house alarm while dashing out my basement door on the way to my afternoon patient rounds. It is rather dark in my basement hallway, and while juggling computer, treatment bag, keys, phone, Mi-Fi, calendar, a bottle of raspberry selzter, mail and gently toeing three cats out of my way, I hit a wrong button, and then another, and then another, in a frenzied attempt to turn the damn thing off. When the alarm company called to tell me the police had been dispatched, I asked them to cancel and explained my mistake. I had no idea I was setting off such a furor at city hall.

This black mark landed squarely on my already-much-besmirched reputation, as it followed right on the heels of a moving violation I received two weeks prior when I was involved in what I hope to someday remember fondly as "The Great Left Turn Incident of '11." Right now, I remember it simply as "Getting My Bumper Smashed By A Cheeky Young Turk Going Too Damn Fast Through The Intersection." I admit I am not yet quite at peace with either of these two incidents. I hit a wrong button in the dark, and I turned left. Now, I am, apparently, a perp, and although generally I have always tried to see all sides of any story, I am starting to feel just the tiniest bit oppressed by The Man. If I had a tin cup, I would be running it along the bars of my cell, pausing only to strum and sing a soulful rendition of "Folsom Prison Blues" on my guitar.

I suppose it was really only a matter of time. My parents saw the writing on the wall early, and warned me about it, that night I attempted to tip-toe up the stairs four minutes...no, wait, four hours...past my midnight curfew. Once midnight came and went, I reasoned, as only adolescents can do, that since I was already in trouble I might as well make the most of it. Upon my return, as I crept up the stairs accompanied by the, Lord Have Mercy, Christ Have Mercy, rosy-fingered dawn, carrying my shoes, I found both of my parents standing, arms akimbo at the top of the stairs, sputtering, "Where HAVE you..." and "What in the HELL have you..." and the ever-popular "If you think for ONE MINUTE you're going to...". Now, I have only myself to blame, 'cause Lord knows, Mama tried.

And it's made me wonder, this week, about forgiveness, and how maybe we could all use just a little bit more of it in our lives. I pressed a wrong button, I turned left, I had fun, I laughed so hard I forgot to look at my watch, and I loved somebody. I'd do it all again, and in fact, since I'm still stumbling around like an idiot in a thorn bush at the age of...old enough to know better, but young enough to still enjoy it...I probably will. Not really such a walk of shame, at least not in my book.

Copyright 2011. All Rights Reserved.