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Oh, yeah. The debate. It’s been about fifteen minutes since somebody mentioned it. That’s some kind of record, I think.
Then another officer says, “We’re counting on you to change some minds, young man.”
“Well, you’d better prepare yourself for some disappointment,” Gabe says under his breath so only I can hear. As always, he cracks himself up over his bad joke.
But most people are looking at us like a bunch of heroes.
It seems like everyone in the park wants to slap our backs or shake our hands. Even the pair of officers putting cuffs on the unhoused person give us a grateful nod.
Then comes the best part.
The woman carrying Yo-Yo and holding the big sister’s hand walks toward us. With them is a whole group of friends, some laughing and crying all at once.
“I can’t ever thank you guys enough,” the mother says. “But I’m gonna try. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And God bless you.” She keeps talking. Then, of course, she starts crying. I feel like I could start crying, too.
“Liana here was so tired from watching Yo-Yo last night when I was working that she fell asleep,” Yo-Yo’s mother says, as she puts her arm around the older sister.
Now I can’t help wondering why the first officer we spoke to said that the big sister was on something. This girl is clearly just a kid, like us. Why are some people always ready to think the worst of one another? Sometimes this “detective’s son” thinks the opposing debate rep has a good point or two.
Back to the scene at hand.
Yo-Yo’s mother says, “But we sure did get a happy ending.”
I suddenly hear another voice, a deeper voice, say, “Yes, ma’am, you certainly did.”
God, I know that voice well, extremely well, too well.
It’s my dad.
And, yes, of course I’m sure he’s glad it ended happily, and I hope he’s proud of me and my friends. But I also know that he isnothappy that I lied to Nana Mama about going somewhere safe.
The same folks who were shaking my hand and high-fiving me are now shaking my dad’s hand and giving him hugs. Finally everything seems to go quiet. The lost girl’s mom says she’s going to make me and my friends a special dinner sometime. Then my dad turns to me.
“Ali, how about you and I drive on home?”
I look up at my father.
“Serious car conversation coming up, Dad?” I ask. He pauses. Then he speaks.
“Let’s call it semi-serious.”
THE CAR CONVERSATIONstays calm. It could have been a lot worse. But even so, I’d think we could let punishment slide since I found the missing girl. Dad has a different opinion.
“We need some thoughtful discipline here, Ali,” is what Dad says during the drive when I change from a big-deal hero into a little punk kid. “That’s why I think grounding you is appropriate. Like I said, ‘thoughtful.’”
“What makes discipline ‘thoughtful’?” I ask him.
“Well, it creates an atmosphere where the person being disciplined can reflect upon the deed.”
“I’ve reflected on it,” I say. “There’s not a lot more to think about.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure you did think about it. But this will give you yet a little more time to reflect,” he says.
“But, Dad, we were helping the police. We were helping the community. And best of all, we found the little girl.”
For a moment I think he might be buying my argument. But then…
“Yes, you ended up doing something mighty good, but you began it by lying to your Nana, and the situation you jumped into was dangerous and unnecessary. You could have gotten hurt. There’s a reason they don’t have child cops.”
