We only stopped by the bank for five minutes. Five. I told my son to stay close while I used the ATM in the lobby. He was in one of those moods—curious, wiggly, asking questions about everything from ceiling fans to how money “comes out of the wall.”

I panicked at first, ready to apologize for him bothering them, but before I could even step in, one of the officers crouched down to his level and handed him a shiny sticker badge. That was it. Bond sealed. My son puffed out his chest like he’d just been promoted. Started asking about their walkie-talkies, what the buttons did, and—this part I’ll never forget—whether they “eat donuts or just save them for emergencies.”

Both officers laughed out loud, a hearty sound that echoed through the quiet bank lobby. I could feel the warmth of the moment, and for a brief second, I realized how lucky we were to meet people who didn’t mind taking a little time out of their day for a kid with more curiosity than manners.

I finished up my transaction and approached the group, still feeling that knot in my stomach that came from thinking I’d let my son go too far. But before I could speak, one of the officers turned to me with a smile. Don’t worry, ma’am,” Officer Garcia said. “Your son is quite the character. He’s got a lot of questions for us. We’re just answering them as best we can.” I gave a relieved chuckle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for him to cause any trouble.” “Trouble?” Officer Thompson chimed in. “No, no. We need more kids like him around here. Keeps us on our toes, you know?”

I smiled, but the tension in my chest didn’t completely dissolve. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them—it was just that seeing my son in such an unplanned, unguarded moment made me feel like I’d missed something. I was still a little worried, but they didn’t seem bothered at all. If anything, they seemed genuinely pleased to have someone so enthusiastic and full of life in their day.