Natural Born Policeman

We have at least a few natural born policemen in our family. I can see you scratching your head right now thinking “Whatever does she mean?” Well, let me paint you a little picture of our policeman. Nice Mike is his nickname, and he is our seventh son. He’s the “no fair” guy in our home. He wants an orderly rule of life for everyone and cannot really understand if we might need to change course for any individual ,or for any reason whatsoever. He is the one who mete’s out the hidden punishments like pinches, hair-pulls, and elbows in full view of everyone in the room, but whistles and turns eyes upwards as soon as you glance in his direction.

“What?”

“Who Me?”

-He often answers when you question what just happened. But if you press a bit further it usually turns out the indiscretion was YOUR fault after all. You see this child wants you to be perfectly fair, all the time. If he sees us failing in our parental duties, He makes sure to set things straight by evening the score through corporal punishment. Alas I wish he were our only policeman, but we have had several over the years and sadly it doesn’t seem to resolve itself with time from all I can tell.

You already know that Fred tells stories at night to the 5 little ones starting in the boy’s room and eventually leads to a pony story in the little girls room. The role of the policeman in this post will be played by Michael. Our beloved 5 year old who is as rigid as rigid comes. He likes order, and routine, and traditions. He is all meat and potatoes. His yes is yes, his no is no. Too bad he lives in our house.

So, the other night Fred announces bedtime and tells the children this by saying “It’s time to Brush, Flush, and Hush” and all the little ones know they better brush, flush, and hush in that order if they want to hear a story and get a drink of milk. As any father will tell you threats are a part of his repertoire in order to be most effective at conducting the children to their respective spots in an orderly fashion.

“If you are not in this room by the time I bring the milk in, you are not going to hear a story!”

“Only 30 more seconds until I close this door for good!”

“This is your last chance to get a sip of milk until morning! Do you hear me Ladies and gentlemen?”

All of this in his sternest fatherly voice. How I wish it was as effective as it sounds. How do I say this  next part nicely; Mary decided to dawdle. In fact Miss Mary is an expert dawdler. She wasn’t in the mood to brush, flush, and hush as her father asked,and so she was going to do so in her own sweet time. Fred called in to warn her she would lose her pony story if she didn’t hustle. 

Mike the policemen heard the warning. 

Mary sauntered in right in the middle of the story wearing her pink cupcake pajamas after nonchalantly brushing her teeth without a care in the world. She proceeded to climb into her father’s lap yawn and begin sipping her milk. He finished the story and kissed the boys goodnight taking their empty milk cups from the room as he turned off lights still carrying Mary in his arms down the hall to her bed. 

He closed the door and lay her gently down. He tucked her under the covers and she asked “Daddy, could I have a pony story?” And what do you think Fred did? Naturally he began. No sooner had he got out “Once upon a time…” then the door was burst open by the heel of our 5 year old policeman. With his most scrunched up face possible he shouted at the top of his 5 year old lungs:

“MARY’S NOT SUPPOSED TO GET A PONY STORY TONIGHT!!!” 

Fred, stifling a minor heart attack was caught. He was Nailed, Busted, Nabbed. He sat on the edge of Mary’s bed guilty as charged. What’s a 46 year old carpenter to do when confronted by a 5 year old patrolman? Fred using the last bits of authority he could muster shouted:

“GET TO YOUR BED MISTER!” 

To which Michael replied:

BUT DAD, IT’S NOT FAIR!!!! SHE DIDN’T COME IN ON TIME!!!” 

Now Fred was in a pickle. He could end the pony story and have Mary cry for an hour (at least), or he could tell Michael he had changed his mind. He had bluffed. He chose the latter. For days afterwards Michael remembered this grave injustice. Every opportunity he got he poked, and prodded his 4 year old sister. If there was a toy to be shared, it certainly wasn’t going to be with Mary. If there was a piece of candy anyone but she could have it. It mattered not that Fred explained Mary would have cried for a long time, that it just wasn’t worth it, that the price to pay for the missing pony story was far too high. Michael felt this injustice deeply. He probably still does. 

I can’t say I blame Michael all that much. We may learn early on “Life isn’t fair” but I have always thought in my heart of hearts it should be. It gnaws at me that some really awful people don’t seem to get punished and some really good people get nothing but. It forces me to wonder if God ever bluffs. Does he threaten and thunder really just in an attempt to get us to do things right? Will He have his heart turned by a sweet little girl in cupcake pajamas or will he march her swiftly off to bed without her pony story and milk. And if he does give her the milk has he been a good or bad father to the little boy? Can justice come in a One Size Fits All? What a ghastly thought. 

I guess it’s best to leave the measuring to the one with a measuring stick. 

But in case life doesn’t seem all that fair in your house someday soon, I know a terrific policeman willing to walk your beat real cheap. Honest.