When I was five years old, my grandmother, Anna May Bernet Callaghan, picked me up at my family home to take me to her house to spend the night. She had parked her car on our side of the street (the wrong side) and when we got to her car she found a parking ticket.

We got in the car and drove directly to the police station. Grandma went up to the Sargent at the desk and waved the ticket at him. “I’m a grandmother,” she said. “I’m not going to have my grandchildren cross a busy street to get into my car.”

With that, she gave the parking ticket to the Sargent, grabbed my hand, and we marched out of the police station.

I never knew what happened with Grandma’s parking ticket after this encounter but I’m quite sure that she continued to park on our side of the street.