I was on my way to the office, nothing unusual, just another drive to drop off my weekly paperwork. I already knew one of my headlights was out, so when I saw a cruiser from the Tucson Police Department turn around and fall in behind me, I wasn’t surprised. My mind immediately shifted into preparation mode. Alright… here we go. The lights flashed, I pulled over calmly, and waited.
The officer approached, asked how I was doing, and then asked the question I expected next: did I have any weapons in the vehicle. I answered honestly. I told him I was a concealed carry permit holder, that my firearm was on my right hip, and that my wallet was in my back-right pocket. No panic. No attitude. Just honesty and respect.
For both our safety, the officer explained that he needed to disarm me during the stop. I understood completely. I unlocked the vehicle and carefully explained that I was using a 7TS ALS holster, which made it difficult for the second officer to release from his angle. The lead officer asked me to step out of the vehicle, and I did so slowly and exactly as instructed.
He safely removed my Glock and even complimented the X300U mounted on it. He noticed my military ID, and I told him I serve in the National Guard. There was no tension, no raised voices — just professionals handling a situation that could have gone another way. While checking my paperwork, he pointed out that my registration card in the vehicle was outdated, even though the system showed my registration itself was current.
Standing there, I already knew the math. Headlight out. Registration card issue. At least two infractions. I was mentally preparing to deal with the fines and move on. A few minutes later, the officers returned. My Glock was inside an evidence bag, cleared, locked, and handled with care. Then the lead officer said something that caught me off guard: because I had been respectful and cooperative, they were leaving it at a verbal warning and simply asked me to fix the headlight.
Here’s the part that matters most. I’m a Black man. I was wearing a hoodie. I was legally armed. According to certain narratives, I shouldn’t have walked away from that stop — but I did. Maybe respect still matters. Maybe calm communication still works. Police officers are people too, and while bad apples exist, most are doing their jobs with integrity. That day, I met two men who earned their badges — and stories like this deserve to be told too.
