Pat walked into the house more quietly than usual. I didn't notice her until she was at the dining table setting down her purse.

She turned and walked toward the TV room, where I was, and announced:

"I just got stopped,"

Stopped? As in state patrol?

"Yes, and I'm still shaking."

My mind started racing. She must have been speeding, $100, $200 fine. But that couldn't be. Pat always sets her cruise control.

"No," she said. "My left low beam was out. He didn't give me a ticket, not even a warning. He just told me to get it changed.

"But still, I was real nervous until I found out what the problem was. I was shaking so much that I couldn't get my license out of my purse. The trooper even offered to take it out for me."

The story reminded me just how nice troopers can be. I know there are people who hate them, but I've never found one to dislike.

One time in the 1980s, Pat was driving from Sunnyside to Selah when she was stopped for speeding. All five of our kids, ranging from 1-10, were with her and actually saved her from a ticket.

These kids were not shy. They started asking their own questions.

"Are you going to arrest our mommy?"

"Are you going to put handcuffs on her?'

"Are you taking her to jail?

The trooper put his ticket book away and said: "I can see you're already having a tough day. Please just slow down."

Dad, who died in 2004, came to the Yakima Valley in 1943. He became known among the state bulls, as they were called by truckers in those days, because there always seemed to be something wrong with one of his trucks - overload, malfunctioning lights.

That familiarity saved me a ticket on the 1980s when I was stopped by a trooper who'd known dad. After seeing my license, he asked if I was Ted's son, and I answered affirmatively.

"Well how is Ted?" he asked. "I haven't seen him for a long time."

Fine, I said. He no longer has trucks.

"He was sure a nice man," the trooper said.

I appreciated that.

Then the trooper said, "Do me a favor and slow down."

I did, and I rarely speed today.

Probably the most curious stop occurred to a friend of mine in the 1980s when he was speeding in his truck across the Horse Heaven toward Oregon. The trooper was a young man my friend knew from childhood.

As the trooper got to the driver door and looked up, he exclaimed: "Oh Mr. Carpenter, why did it have to be you?"

My friend responded: "Don't worry about it. You just go ahead and do what you have to do."

"Oh no, Mr. Carpenter, I can't do that," the young trooper said. "Please just slow down."