Driving my son to school this morning, I was followed most of the way by a driver who had his cell phone to his ear. I noticed this simply because I have a habit of noticing when cars behind me begin to swerve, as he did each time his head animatedly bobbed up and down, presumably in response to whatever was being said on the other end of the phone. For the fifteen minutes he followed me, I was sweating bullets — and only in part because he kept getting dangerously close to my rear-bumper. The other reason was because he was a cop.

That’s right: despite the proven dangers of it, my local boys in blue are driving while dialing.

I can’t begin to tell you how furious I was. Here I am, a parent trying to instill in my young son a respect for law-enforcement and other authority types. Now that my oldest child has her Learner’s Permit, I preach the gospel of not talking on the phone while behind the wheel, not even with a hands-free device since they’re not much safer. (And God help us all if these latest innovations catch on.)

My son has heard this. My son knows that when I’m driving I won’t — no matter how much he begs — call Daddy to remind him to pick up ice cream on his way home. I won’t talk to friends if they call while I’m driving, and I even pull over to call ahead if I’m running late somewhere. It’s just the responsible, safe thing to do.

But evidently my local police force doesn’t agree and, frankly, I find this infuriating. See, I wasn’t the only one worried on our drive to school this morning. My son was fully aware that the police vehicle behind us was practically on my bumper, and that I was even more cautious than usual about slowing at stop signs and signalling before turns. It wasn’t because I was worried about getting a ticket. I was worried about getting into an accident. Which means that all of my effort to convince my son that the police are protectors, good role models and trustworthy people was wiped out in one 15-minute drive.

Thanks, Mr. Policeman, you jackass.