Siren Call

Today, Jacob belted out in the bathroom, "I don't want to wash my hands after I go potty! I WON'T wash my hands after I go potty, unless the police do!" So I grabbed him by the hand, and said "Let's go, little man."

Off we went to the police station in Granville. We marched into the office, and asked the officer on duty (a dispatcher--an older gentleman who was a bit scandalized by our question), "Sir, do police officers wash their hands after they go to the bathroom?" At first, he was a little flustered, but he indicated that they did, and he explained why it was important. "You don't want to get all those germs on a candy bar," he said. Then he gave Jacob a Jr. Granville Police Officer sticker.

"Where are all the other police officers?" asked Jacob. "They're out back," the dispatcher said, "getting ready to go out on patrol."

Out back we went. There, Jacob asked his all-important question again, and, in the wake of the affirmation, he got to live every 4 and half year old boy's dream: he got to climb into the police car, turn on the siren, turn on the lights, point to the shotgun and wonder, and pose with the police. Jacob was in ecstasies. The officer who let him sit in the car said, "Listen to your mom, kid. She's always right." It all seemed to be going so well!

The only downside to this escapade--that will give me hand-washing ammo for months to come--was a remark one of the cops made. After we'd been there a few minutes, one of the police officers said, "Hey, I know you. You live next door to my girlfriend." Sure enough, he was the alternative-looking kid who is always visiting Ashleigh, our neighbor's 20-year-old daughter. This seemed like a nice discovery at first. "Oh, Jacob! This is Zach. He works here!" But then he said, "It was a trip like this that made me want to become a cop."

Holy crap. If that happens to Jacob, does this mean he'll want to be a gun-toting Bush supporter too? I was happy to hang out with the cops to get my kid to practice some basic hygiene, but I don't want anyone trying to convert him. I have high hopes the silver stick-on badge reduces parent-kid friction (over handwashing), rather than producing some kind of diabolical C.H.I.P.S. frenzy in my house--far worse than any germs could be. My friend, Becky, always talks about how her son Todd became an army-lover when he was Jacob's age. Oi. I hope he doesn't hear that siren's call.