Good friends, a good laugh, and a visit from the police | Opinion
The ornament of a house, American essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson said, is the friends who frequent it. By this standard, the Kerrigan house is well-adorned. My wife, Devin, and I are blessed with many friends who frequently grace our hearth with their presence.
Good friends are the ones who know you well, keep you humble and remind you always to laugh at yourself. One cordial caller hit this definitional trifecta with a Christmas gift delivered in amiable stealth early last December.
Karen was one of the first acquaintances Devin made when we moved to Charlotte in 2001. Her Christmas gift memorialized a humbling event from those early years in the Queen City, long ago forgotten by Devin but not by Karen.
It was early 2005 and Devin was giving our daughter, Molly, then 2, a bath. Molly’s 4-year-old brother, Joe, had wriggled free from his towel and exited stage left to his parents’ bedroom.
Joe had managed to dial 911 from the bedside landline during his brief time on the lam. Like the dog who’d caught the car, he remained silent after calling the police, who, to their credit, arrived at our home within minutes.
I was traveling for work, so Devin was more than a little surprised to hear voices of two men who’d made their way through our unlocked back door and into the narrow hallway of our ranch house. “Ma’am,” one of the officers thundered, “is everything okay?”
Devin scooped Molly out of the bathtub and hurried into the hall to meet the men in blue. There she put together what must have happened. She assured the officers everything was fine and walked them back the way they’d come. Looking around our kitchen for a second time with eyes askance, the other officer did not seem convinced.
“Are you sure there hasn’t been some kind of a disturbance?” he asked. Devin promised she was alone with her two young children, was safe, and all was well. She apologized for the confusion caused by Joe’s rogue summons and thanked them for their responsiveness.
As the policemen exited, Devin couldn’t help but think they’d drawn their conclusion from the chaotic state of our kitchen. While not ready for a feature in “Southern Living,” neither was it far from normal for a weeknight of dinner and baths for two kids 4 and under.
It was too good to keep to herself, so Devin shared the embarrassing story on a walk with Karen in the days following. Karen laughed heartily, and my wife thought nothing more of the episode. That is, until Christmas morning two decades later, when she opened the gift for her that Karen had surreptitiously placed under our tree.
Inside was a notepad with the following emblazoned across the top: “My Housekeeping Style Is Best Described as ‘There Appears to Have Been a Struggle’.” The memory of the 911 call surged back, and Devin laughed herself to tears.
We’ll have Karen over for dinner soon. Before we do, we will surely give the kitchen a thorough cleaning. Or perhaps we won’t. That’s how it is with good friends.
Mike Kerrigan is an attorney in Charlotte and a regular contributor to the opinion pages.
This story was originally published March 7, 2026 at 6:00 AM.