On the way home from the airport after our trip to Branson, MO, my husband and I sat in the back of the car and chatted with my dad and our oldest son sitting in front. My son asked me about the fastest speed I had ever gotten a ticket for.

I’d only been pulled over 4 times in my life that I could remember. The most recent time was about eight years ago, when I was going about 60 on a section of highway that I didn’t realize was a 45 mph zone. By the time the officer had pulled over and walked up to my car, unbeknownst to me, two of my three kids had unbuckled themselves.  The only reason the third was was still buckled is because she didn’t know how to get out of her seat. The officer asked if they had been properly secured while I was driving. Embarrassed, I assured him they had.

He let me go with a warning.

To my memory, the other three times I got pulled over were within the first year of getting my license. Only one instance resulted in my getting a ticket, and that time, I pled guilty, because I was. The judge was the father of one my high school classmates, and called me into his chambers to see him. He advised me to always fight, no matter what, and never accept a guilty plea.

I don’t remember all the details, but I do know I showed up at court, had a side meeting with the officer who had pulled me over, and was able to get a reduction of charges for my ticket.

I took what the judge said to heart. While I haven’t gotten many speeding tickets, I have gotten more than my fair share of parking tickets, and have argued every one. Only one was I required to pay full price for, and I’m still a little mad about it. There were no signs even close to where I parked stating that it was a no parking zone. But I digress.

So the short answer to my son’s question was, I didn’t know, and it had been a pretty long time since I’d been pulled over.

When our family left Long Island in two separate cars the next morning for the Capital District, my husband offered for me to drive his car. He took our truck, full of kids.

I drove gratefully for the first hour or more. I didn’t turn any music or podcasts on; I just practiced being enough. Finally, I decided I had “been enough” for a sufficient period of time, and pulled up Pandora’s John Legend and the Roots Radio Station. Soon, I was blissing out to the music, belting out lyrics with Erykah Badu and Lauryn Hill.

When I passed the State Trooper pulled over with another vehicle, I didn’t even tap my brakes, which I normally do.

He pulled me over about a minute later.

I had finished reading The Hate U Give, by Angie Thomas, a few days before. I had first seen it on a book blog I follow, then a friend recommended it. With themes of race, identity, and justice, it had been a good and thought-provoking read.

DWB (Driving While Black) was fresh on my mind. I consciously behaved the way I expected any person in my family would behave if they were pulled over: my husband, or my kids, when they become drivers (for one of them, that’s in less than a year). I kept my hands visible and didn’t move them from the steering wheel without telling the officer what I intended to do. I was calm and polite.

It was brief. He took my information, and returned with a ticket.

He had pulled someone else over moments after I was back on the highway.

It made me sick that my short encounter is something that rightly causes a gut fear response for people that know that being pulled over isn’t necessarily something you get to walk away from.

I’m fighting the ticket. I’m not sure how to fight the system.