It is a chilly morning in December 2007, and I am in court. When my case is called, I arise and walk to the podium. For the first time in my legal career, I am uncertain of what to say to the judge. The courtroom is practically empty, with only six or eight people, all of whom are adults – except for a teenage boy.
I have a few typed up notes, hurriedly thrown into a Word document and printed out late the night before. Unlike most hearings, I do not have a binder with meticulously organized and tabbed documents: an outline of my oral argument, copies of moving and opposing pleadings, relevant cases, miscellaneous notes, and proofs of service.
Today I am appearing in court as a victim’s representative, not as an advocate. Months ago, my young adolescent son and two of his friends were at a fast food restaurant at an upscale mall before heading to a video store. My son had his wallet on the dining table when he was approached by a physically imposing young man. The teen asked my son a question, temporarily distracting him, and then stole his wallet and sprinted outside. My kid and his loyal buddies immediately, and correctly, surmised that the thief was too adroit and powerful to pursue, so they ran to the mall information desk, and the police were summoned.
The young offender was rounded up with dispatch, still with the cash he had taken from my son’s wallet. He pled guilty in juvenile court to theft in the third degree. My son was invited to be present at his sentencing. I thought it would provide closure, but my son adamantly refused to attend. Like most teenage boys, he was all bluster on the outside and vulnerability on the inside. I suspect he was intimidated by the threat of retaliation – or at least social repercussions for attending.
I was uncertain why I wanted to attend and speak at the sentencing. I had mixed emotions: anger at someone who took advantage of a boy younger and smaller, frustration at my son for not coming with me, and curiosity at why I needed to be there. I felt that witnessing the offender would help me understand who he was and why he did it. I also wanted him to know that though he had frightened and taunted my son, I was not afraid of him.
But something tugged at and softened my fury. The young man’s mother sat in the courtroom, her impassive expression masking her heartache and distress. I wanted her to know that parenting sons is a humbling experience, that our boys were more alike than different, and that we are inextricably bonded by our sole desire that the world treat our children with compassion and that they, in kind, respond with integrity, honesty, and courage.
I adjust the microphone slightly, swallow hard, and begin to speak:
The world is not that forgiving. You cannot take a lot of missteps and expect people to continually support you. You have let yourself down and have disappointed the people who care most about you. Events do not happen in isolation; your impromptu decision sparked a chain reaction that ignited your family, my family, and our communities. But we all have a chance to learn from our mistakes. You are solely responsible for your life trajectory, which is determined by the decisions you make day by day. I support the recommendation of the Juvenile Probation Counselor for community supervision and service. And I expect you to go out into the world and accomplish great things and live up to the promise that all who love you know you possess.
Years later, I think about that young man and wonder about his juvenile crime conviction. Had he been white instead of black, had my son been of the same race, had the crime been committed somewhere other than an affluent suburb, would he be sentenced under juvenile law? Or would he have been removed from the judicial system and redirected into a diversion process that did not have legal implications?
The hazy lens of hindsight is troubling. But my hopes for him are unequivocally clear – that he is happy and fulfilled, that he has honored the potential his mother knew existed within him, and he understands, and forgives, his youthful defiance and impulsivity.