I took a breath.
"I showed him my identification after he damaged the car. I didn't threaten to hurt him."
She looked down.
"Why did you show it?"
I thought carefully.
"Because they were accusing me of things that weren't true, and I wanted them to understand who they were dealing with."
She considered that.
Then she asked, "Would it have been okay to kick the car if you weren't sheriff?"
I shook my head.
"No."
She looked toward the little Mustang on her desk.
"Then why does the badge matter?"
I stared at her.
For a moment, I couldn't answer.
My daughter wasn't accusing me of anything. She was trying to understand why the adults around her seemed so concerned with a metal badge when the basic issue was that someone had deliberately damaged another person's property.
I smiled faintly.
"That's a very good question."
She waited.
I continued.
"The badge shouldn't decide whether someone's property deserves respect. That's true."
She nodded.
"Then you didn't need it."
I looked down.
Maybe she was right about that too.
The identification had ended the immediate intimidation, but it wasn't the reason the kick was wrong. The car belonged to me. The young man had no permission to damage it. Those facts were enough, regardless of what I did for a living.
I looked toward my daughter.
"Sometimes grown-ups make decisions in the moment that they think are helpful. Then afterward, we have to ask whether there was a better way."
She thought about that.
"Like when I yelled at my friend?"
I smiled.
"Something like that."
She picked up the model Mustang.
"Grandpa would've told you to use your words."
I laughed softly.
"He definitely would have."
She smiled.
Then she leaned against my shoulder.
"I don't like people saying you're mean."
I put an arm around her.
"Neither do I."
She looked up.
"Are you?"
I shook my head.
"I try not to be. But I still have to think about how my actions affect people."
She nodded.
For several minutes, we sat together.
Then she placed the model car in my hand.
"Maybe you should keep this until Blue Rocket gets fixed."
My throat tightened.
"Why?"
She smiled.
"So you remember the good one."