The police officer forced my 72-year-old husband to lie face down on the scorching asphalt β what he whispered broke himβ¦ but he had no idea who I really was.
That day, the sun was merciless β 36 degrees Celsius in the shade, not a breath of wind. The asphalt shimmered like glass, too hot to touch.
And yet, there he was β my husband Harold, 72, lying face down on the ground. Handcuffed. His arthritic knees pressing into the burning pavement, while four police cars surrounded his motorcycle as if he had just robbed a bank.
His crime? An exhaust pipe deemed too loud.
It didnβt matter that the bike had passed inspection just two weeks earlier. It didnβt matter that Harold had served two tours in Vietnam, received a Bronze Star, and had never committed anything more than a simple speeding ticket.
The young officer, Officer Kowalski, stood over him like a conqueror, pushing him with his boot every time Harold tried to ease the pain.
βStay down, old man!β he barked β loud enough for recording phones to pick up, loud enough for children in passing cars to hear.
I saw a woman whisper to her children: βSee that man? This is what happens to those who donβt follow the rules.β
She didnβt know who Harold was. But most importantlyβ¦ they had no idea who I was.
When they finally let him get up, his face was burned from the asphalt, his hands shook β not from anger, but from humiliation.
And when I asked him what the officer had whispered just before letting him go⦠Harold stared at the wall and simply said:
βHe told me guys like me should stay off the road. That it was time to βhang it up before I hurt someone.ββ
Thatβs when I realized β they had picked the wrong couple.
They had no idea what I had done before.
They had no idea what I could still do.
And it was time⦠to remind them.
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