The Governor, Me, and the Ticket

Have you ever unintentionally broken the law?

Many moons ago—back when my calendar was color-coded in highlighter and my car basically ran on Dunkin’ and determination—I served on every PTA board in our school district from 2004 to 2016. Elementary, middle, high school. If there was a bake sale, a budget vote, or a debate about cafeteria pizza, I was there.

It was unpaid. It was exhausting. It was one of the most meaningful seasons of my life.

One sunny afternoon in June, my phone rang. It was our district Superintendent. In that tone that says, This is not about pretzel sales, he explained that the Governor of New York would be coming to our district to sign a newly passed bill. The legislation would reduce the speed limit in front of school buildings to 25 mph and install remote cameras in those zones to track speeding.

Safety first. Children first. All good things.

Then he added, almost casually, that the Governor’s office would like the PTA Council President to deliver a short speech in support of the bill.

That would be me.

I said yes before he could finish the sentence. Of course I did. PTA moms don’t say no. We say, “Sure, what time?”

A few days later I arrived at the school and was escorted behind the stage like I was part of a traveling Broadway show. That’s when I was introduced to Andrew Cuomo.

Let me tell you—what a production. Lights. Cameras. Staffers with earpieces. He was polished, charming, larger than life. If you’ve heard stories, let’s just say… yes. That. All of it.

I delivered my speech. I spoke about protecting our children, about the peace of mind parents deserve, about how slowing down for a few seconds could save a lifetime. The bill was signed. Hands were shaken. Pictures were taken. Pomp. Circumstance. Applause.

And then?

I went back to packing lunches and answering emails.

One week later, I grabbed the mail after work. Bills. Coupons. And then—front and center—a crisp envelope from the Town.

A speeding ticket.

For driving 30 in a 25 mph school zone.

Issued in the neighboring district’s school zone.

There I was. On video. Zipping past the school like I had somewhere far more important to be than my own public platform.

I just stood there staring at it. The irony was almost poetic.

I immediately called my Superintendent and said, “Guess who got the first school zone ticket? Me!”

He burst out laughing. I burst out laughing. To this day, years later, when we talk, we still fall down laughing about it.

For the record, I am probably the most conservative driver on the planet. I brake at yellow lights. I wave pedestrians across like I’m directing traffic at LaGuardia. But that June in 2014?

Public enemy number one.

And here’s what I’ve learned: life has a wicked sense of humor. Just when you’re standing at a podium feeling polished and purposeful, it humbles you with a grainy traffic camera photo.

Sometimes you’re the advocate.

Sometimes you’re the example.

And sometimes—if you’re lucky—you get to be both.