School Zone Speeding- Students Be Ware!

It is not enough to be familiar with the streets you drive on- to be a safe driver one needs to place focus their entire attention on the road, as 16 year old me learned one fateful Wednesday afternoon in late May.

It was on the same streets that I was raised, the same smooth curvy road I would ride my bike down, headed to my library with an insatiable hunger for knowledge that only a nine year old can possess. On this sunny Wednesday afternoon, school had ended early and I raced home, to meet with my father (also leaving school- he was my AP US History teacher) so that we could meet at the tennis courts together and take advantage of our beautifully bright skies. To my surprise, blue and red lights flash behind me- as the road I had always biked on, which was forever a 35 mph zone, on this fateful Wednesday, had an early release for the nearby elementary school. And with a 15 mph excess in a school zone, my first speeding ticket burned a $450 hole in my 16 year old pockets.

My father of course was the first to know, he drove the same path home as I did, and I knew to come clean as soon as I stepped through the door. He easily agreed that I should be the one to pay off the fine, as I hung my head with shame. The bright eagerness of the day dampened slightly, but I had a full day of tennis ahead of me, so my spirit held on. No, for you see, it was the following day that was the truest shame of the whole event.

Thursday morning rolls along, smooth as the same roads that mark this very story, and my car’s speedometer dips a single mile below the speed limit signs. The cars behind me fume and sputter exhaust but I have quite learned my lesson, and my simmering coals of my pocketbook still burn from yesterday. Then I enter into my high school, only to be greeted with my father’s coworker, the vice principal of my school, Mr. Bein (pronounced, Bean, much to the cheer of every teenager in the city). After a polite greeting, Mr. Bein turns to offer me a conspiratorial smile, and asks me how my car has been holding up. Utterly confused, as while I had babysat for Mr. Bein’s daughters before, the topic of automobiles had never arisen. My vice principal laughed easily at my blank stare and agape mouth, attracting a small crowd in the hallway between classrooms.

“I only mean to say that I saw your car yesterday afternoon leaving school, you see” he says, slightly pitying now, as my ears burn bright red. Ah, yes, because whenever I babysat for the Bein girls, their house resides in the very same neighborhood of my now loathed road. I stuttered some response in return, a meaningless blather I had quite quickly forgotten, and rushed off to first period, dodging the follow up questions my classmates were swift to toss my way.

Finally I was safely seated in my math class, with AP US History in the afternoon, and Mr. Bein securely returned to his own office located on the opposite side of campus. This safety was a farce I was to soon to discover- you see I had forgotten about the greatest embarrassment a growing teen could experience. As my own mother, a former math teacher, strolled through the door to greet her friend and colleague Mrs. Jensen. They make a pleasantly causal conversation, while I hid my pimpled pink face behind one too many math books.

Hannah drops her backpack down on the desk next to my own, and my Jenga tower collapses to the ground with an earthshaking tremble. My mother, a former math teacher, the current head principal of my high school turns to the back of the classroom, and meets my eyes and to my utter horror smiles. “Oh Grayson! I was wondering if you were going to make it to class safely this morning. You know, after yesterday’s incident”.

A moment of silence, one I wish had lasted two years (long enough for me to graduate high school and never deal with the repercussions of such a statement)- then the whole class of 28 students whip their heads to face me, and the questions all rush to meet me.

Drive safely students- you never know who is watching.