My first (but not last) brush with the law

A recollection...

Across the ball field, where my Dad had his flagpole, (he loved the American flag, which is why, to this day, I always have one flying) which was west of the old farmhouse, lived a neighbor. My first recollection was a trailer, up on blocks. The people who lived there then were from the South, with a heavy hillbilly (it was still PC correct to call them hillbillies, back then) accent. All I remember about them is how their four year-old son drove their car into the rather deep ditch out front.

How, you might ask? Back then the starter was a button on the floor of the car. You would turn on the key, press the button with your foot and the car would start. If you didn't have the key in the ignition, the starter would still turn over. And, if it was left in gear, the car would lurch forward. So, this little kid stepped on the starter, the car jumped a few feet and he apparently thought, "Hey, cool!"

So, he kept doing it until the car ended up in the five-foot deep ditch. A wrecker was needed to get it out!

They moved on and the trailer was bought by an older woman (my sister Anne and I called her the "crazy lady"). Anyway, one day, I was outside and noticed there was a police car in the crazy lady's driveway. Intrigued, (I had never seen a real police car before), I wandered over (I was maybe seven or eight years old, BTW).

One of the policemen (back then, before all these budget cuts, there was always two policemen in a squad car) saw me and called me over.

I crossed the ditch (where the dreaded poison ivy lived) and went to talk to him. "This is so cool!" I thought.

He said, "Son, this nice lady says that that 'somebody' is hiding in her field and making Bobwhite calls at her!"

He asked, "Boy, can you make a Bobwhite call?"

Now, three things came to mind:

1. There were Bobwhite Quail everywhere, why you picking on me?
2. Any kid in the country could make a Bobwhite call (Its simple. It's three notes. In fact, I used to have fun luring the horny quail to the house on Palms Road. Until I realized it would be the same as hearing a seductive feminine voice saying, "Hey, big guy, you come here often?" and turning around and finding a chicken or something fowl there). So, I stopped doing it.
3. I had listened to the propaganda every since I was small that the cops were my friends. So, why did he call me "Son?" I ain't his son! My parents are George and Helen, dammit! And, what happens if I imitate a Bobwhite Quail, perfectly?

So, at like seven or eight, I gave a really (really) bad imitation of a bobwhite call... They let me go after advising me not to hide in the fields and scaring the old lady.

I left, having a life-long aversion to law enforcement...