I had recently given up work in the construction field to pursue an engineering degree.  My parents wanted me to go to school and put me up to get me started.  I drove a Datsun pickup that apart from body ran well and was reliable.  Datsun became Nissan and in the ensuing years they, like all vehicle manufacturers, learned how to prevent oxidation, but my truck was half rust.

I’d moved home back home after spending six years in Georgia framing homes, installing floors, building decks and the like.  It was interesting work, but my aches in joint and tendon foretold what a long term stent would do to one’s body.  That and a life of late nights and early mornings made it clear it was time for change.

An additional bit to complicate things—I was in the midst of a divorce.  We were kids and had nothing to speak of in terms of property, but her name was on title and that had to be remedied else new plates were out of the question.  The tags on current plate corners were now out of date and the wheels of council and court turned slowly.  School was demanding, and I pressed forward forgetting, perhaps ignoring, the out of date beckons on rectangular tin front and rear.

I limited my non-school driving to avoid detection, but on one rainy Saturday afternoon I ventured out with girlfriend sitting close on bench seat to buy provisions.  Our cupboards were bare.

All was well on journey’s beginning, if fact with a warm and pleasant companion close at hand the plate problem completely left my mind.  But there’s something about police rollers illuminating rearview that robs one of any comfort.

I pulled into a nearby parking area and waited for officer’s arrival.  I was fairly young at this point and had had very few encounters with our blue clad friends and imagined the worst.  My transportation to school would be gone and so would my path to a better life.  My mind raced through one fabrication after another hoping I could convince the officer who was about to visit my window that my life was worthy of greater consideration.  I told my girl the tale I was about to tell and she grasped my arm and said, “tell him the truth.”  I looked at her like she had lost her mind.  She repeated her suggestion and I knew I wouldn’t be able to lie effectively anyway as I sore it off when I was some seven years old.

“Okay.”

In side mirror I could see him approaching and I rolled down my window.

“Do you know why we stopped you?” he asked firmly.

“I have out of state expired plates,” I said directly and respectfully.

“Why haven’t you taken care of this?” he asked next.

“Officer I’m in the middle of a divorce and…,” I was interrupted as soon as soon as the D word left my lips.

“Say no more brother,” he exclaimed,” take care of it as soon as you can.”

He walked away waving and I looked at my wonderful girlfriend and smiled broadly.

“See,” she said simply.

We talked as we rolled away from that lot and reasoned he was plowing through a divorce himself and understood the difficulties involved.

For me, the day taught me three important lessons, hear out your girl, tell the truth, and there is a greater being making a path for us.