I got my first speeding ticket driving home one evening from college, either my freshman or sophomore year, just a few minutes from my house. Like most boys my age, Dad owned my car and still paid for the insurance, and I feared a “talking to” and didn’t want to disappoint him. After speaking with a few friends, I found it was possible that I could take care of the ticket by taking a defensive driving course. Dad would never find out. But, I still needed to contact the court and follow the instructions on the ticket, which I didn’t quite understand. So, I thought I’d do a grownup thing and call the court myself. What I didn’t figure (or what I forgot), was how things work in a small Texas town.When I called the number listed on the ticket to get some guidance on understanding the process of handling a speeding ticket (it’s my first after all), the actual judge would answer the phone, and that struck an immediate reverent fear in me. Here I was trying to avoid both my dad and the judge and now I’m literally talking to the actual judge. I was counting on some random clerk or administrative assistant to answer the phone.
I thought about hanging up, but then realized that was a bad idea because surely, the court had caller ID. So, as I do with most things, I start to apologize. “I’m sorry sir, oh, I mean judge, no I mean your honor, I thought I was calling the front desk, I didn’t mean to disturb you and call you directly.”
The judge answered, “No, think nothing of it, you called the correct number, but [whatever her name was] stepped out for lunch, so I decided to take the call for her. How can I help you?”
Still not thinking clearly, I felt I had to tell him who I was, “Yes sir, I mean your honor. My name is Keith Geeding, and,”
“Oh, you’re Walt Geeding’s kid. Now, I’ve known your father for a long, long time, when we served together in the Army at Camp Wolters, he and I (I can’t remember what else was said, I was in shock finding out how dad was actually friends with THE judge). As a matter of fact, I’ll be seeing him soon, I need to go…” I wish I could tell you what else he said, I was too worried Dad would now for sure find out about my ticket. All of this, because the judge was such a nice fellow that he was covering for a clerk or secretary who was eating their lunch.
“Now, how can I help you, young man?” asked the judge. I told him it was my first ticket and the instructions on the ticket were confusing to me, it all sounded so…legal. He then, in the kindest way, explained to me what everything meant and what I needed to do. I was so surprised at how friendly and patient he was. But this 20-year-old, who felt so adult and grown up one minute ago now felt like a child, couldn’t mentally process a single thing he said.
