The Wake-up Call
It was a rainy, cool Late November afternoon on the South Shore of Long Island. I had gone upstairs after spending time in our home office to take a power nap, which was, and still is to this day, my routine. I was dozing soundly when Deb barged in and blurted out, “Tom, Kory is in jail! “What?” I asked as I was trying to bring my brain out of my repose, feeling like I was at the bottom of a swimming pool trying to come up for air. Trying to grasp what she just said, she added, “the Nassau 7th precinct just called and said Kory was arrested for shoplifting at JC Penney’s.” Now, I’m still trying to figure out what she just told me. I’m sitting up on the bed now, shaking off the cobwebs of slumber. “Kory is not in jail,” I tell her indignantly. “She’s a minor.” I added, going straight to the bottom line of her legal status. “Well, you’ve got to go to the 7th precinct in Seaford and bail her out.” Deb says with more than a tinge of anger in her tone. I rarely saw this from Deb. It wasn’t her nature.
“OK, let me get some coffee, and I’ll go.” It was time for my late afternoon cup to complete my sacred napping ritual, which was upended entirely by my 14-year-old offspring being stupid enough to get apprehended for trying to lift some items out of a department store at the local mall. “Jesus Christ” I blab out loud. Little did I know that this wasn’t going to be the last run-in with the law for Kory and me.
At The Police Precinct
I arrive at the precinct house and go straight to the desk officer. The front desk is always elevated, as if it’s on a stage, so you can feel less important than the individuals of authority seated on their thrones behind the mezzanine desk. This reminded me of the old black-and-white screwball comedy movies, such as the precinct scene in “Bringing Up Baby”, starring Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. It was about a tame leopard on the loose in a town in Connecticut and there is a scene in which most of the characters are crowded into the small police station of the town.
So starts my calamity. “Mr. Stratman, please take a seat. They have not arrived yet. You’ll just have to wait. That’s all I can tell you. Have a seat over there.” A firm command from the queen. So that was it. I look at the wall lined with chairs, which are not exceptionally comfortable-looking. “Right,” I replied and took my position seated over there, feeling like the responsible parent that I’m not. Of course, this feeling arose due to the ascended authoritarian throne of the desk officers, making all others feel and think so small.
The Wait
And I waited… and I waited over 1 1/2 hours. Finally, in they came, handcuffed together like prisoners on a chain gang, minus the orange jumpsuits and dirty faces.
Our eyes met, and Kory turned away quickly, looking straight ahead. I rose out of my lowly chair and made a beeline for my wayward klepto. Her Majesty, berobed in a police uniform, behind the desk, stood up and stated somewhat emphatically, “Mr. Stratman, go sit down. Your daughter must be processed. It will be a while.”
Like a lonely surf with shoulders slumped, I receded into my still-warm seat, drooping shoulders and all. I was boiling on the inside. I’m sure Kory was relieved to be taken into the back processing room for her so-called booking. Now my temperature is rising faster than water in a teapot on a hot burner. “What the hell is this going to cost me?” I thought as the scene and the reality of this place set in.
Another hour goes by, daylight is just a faded memory, and I hear the pattering rain outside on the pavement, so I get up and step out to exchange the foul and polluted air of criminality with the freshwater-laden air of the South Shore of Long Island. I take some deep cleansing breaths and back in I go. I immediately see Kate exiting with another officer. She explains that Kory and her accomplice were apprehended with some shirts they had stuffed into a bag. They have been charged with shoplifting and issued a desk ticket for such. They can pay the $250 fine or appear in juvenile court to have the charges adjudicated if we choose. I just nodded in understanding and thanked the officer. I could sense that this scene is easy for the uniformed and plainclothes thespians who have been performing it with both evening and daily afternoon matinees for years.
The Ride Home
On the way to the car and in the car, there was absolute silence between the antagonist and protagonist of the story. I’m not sure who is who. Driving back in the lashing rain on Merrick Rd. to Amityville, I was disgustingly silent and feeling very sad. I was purposefully trying to make her very uncomfortable, showing deep disappointment, which was real. I wasn’t acting out this part. Finally, nearing the village border at County Line Rd. I said, “Kory, I want to congratulate you. You are the first member of the Stratman clan to be booked and charged as a thief, and obviously not a professional one.” Of course, it was true about the first one being booked, but not the first one to be caught. That is an autobiographical anecdote that, for now, will remain anonymous.
The Finale
At the side door, Deb, the lioness, was waiting with claws exposed. “OK, so can I smack the shit out of her now?” she fomented with growling disgust and fury. I was stunned for a moment, and just said, “No, Kory, go to your room and we will have this out in the morning. I put my arm out to block the pouncing feline from reaching our daughter who was swiftly approaching the staircase safely leading to her bedroom.
This behavior was so out of character for Deb. It was like we switched roles for this episode of “All in the Family.” I played the type B personality; the careful and dopey, Edith Bunker, and Deb was the insane Archie; shouting and wide-eyed type A. This was a complete role reversal.
I let out a sigh of relief, smiled, and turned to my spouse and asked, ”So, what are we having with my beer for dinner?” More Fury……