The children learned about the barbecue much later than strangers did.
At eight, the daughter came home from school.
“Dad, were you arrested?”
He looked toward his wife.
She covered a smile.
“Almost.”
“My friend says a policeman attacked you.”
He sighed.
“Sit.”
He explained simply.
An officer came to their old house.
Made wrong assumptions.
Acted badly.
People recorded.
Investigation found more.
The daughter asked:
“Did you fight him?”
“No.”
“Could you?”
His wife laughed from the kitchen.
The homeowner looked toward his muscular arms, now slightly less ridiculous with age.
“Probably.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because winning a fight and getting home safely aren't always the same thing.”
The child thought.
“Was the policeman bad?”
Difficult.
“He did bad things.”
“Is that different?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“People are more than one word.”
The daughter frowned.
“That sounds complicated.”
“It is.”
“Can I have ice cream?”
“Yes.”
Conversation complete.
15
His mother aged.
That became more important than public work.
Knees.
Blood pressure.
Stubborn refusal to stop driving at night.
He argued.
She accused him of abusing prosecutorial power.
He reminded her he had no jurisdiction over mothers.
She said:
“Exactly.”
Eventually she moved into a small guest house on his property.
Her idea.
She insisted.
He pretended it was his.
Family allowed the fiction.
One summer afternoon, they sat outside while his children played.
She said:
“You know what I remember most from that barbecue?”
“The cooler?”
“No.”
“The officer?”
“No.”
“What?”
“You raising your hand to stop me.”
He frowned.
“When?”
“When I wanted to walk over there.”
He remembered.
She continued:
“I was furious.”
“I know.”
“I thought you were protecting him.”
“No.”
“Later I understood.”
“Protecting you?”
“Protecting all of us.”
The homeowner looked toward his children.
His mother continued:
“I still wanted to hit him.”
He laughed.
“I know.”
“I could've.”
“I know.”
She smiled proudly.
Then:
“I hated how everyone praised you for being calm.”
The homeowner turned.
His wife had said same.
His mother continued:
“They didn't see what it cost.”
He nodded.
She touched his hand.
“You don't always have to be calm now.”
He smiled.
“I have children.”
“So no.”
They laughed.
His mother died years later after a short illness.
At her funeral, no one mentioned the barbecue except one cousin telling a funny story about how she almost chased police out of the yard with a serving spoon.
That was exactly right.
Her life was bigger than her son's famous incident.
So was his.
16
The independent misconduct office survived political attack.
Almost did not.
A new mayor campaigned on reducing “anti-police bureaucracy.”