The wisdom of Solomon

A few evenings ago, I was walking through Walmart preoccupied with trying to remember what was written on the list left on the kitchen counter. Somewhere between Health and Beauty Aids and Pet Food, I noticed a man. He was well dressed and had a certain bearing that bespoke kindness and gentility. He was African American--not common in western Maine, an area renowned for lack of melanin. The man smiled and nodded at me. There was something familiar about him and I thought instantly of Morgan Freeman in Driving Miss Daisy and then, as the synapses of memory darted around my brain, I remembered why that thought came to mind and smiled and nodded back. There was a moment's hesitation for us both but then we each kept walking.

Many years ago, the probate court contacted me and asked me to represent an elderly woman whose daughter was petitioning for guardianship. The daughter and mother were estranged and had been for some 30 years. It was far too late to repair the relationship, the elderly woman did not even remember that she had a daughter and the daughter, who was a grandmother herself, still clung to hurt that was decades old.

When I went to visit the woman in the nursing home, I learned that the daughter had never visited but was in contact with the nursing home and was very concerned because many evenings a gentleman--an African American gentleman--would visit and help the woman with her meal, watch television with her and sometimes take her out of the nursing home on day trips to the mountains, to the lake or even to the coast. While she was not always lucid, she was able to articulate the importance of those car trips and the companionship. She told me about seeing the Rangely Lakes from the Height of Land, she told me about watching the waves crash into the rocky coast, she told me about going out to eat in restaurants and about how free she felt when she was able to leave the nursing home in her own car with her friend driving.

As they say, the plot started to thicken. The woman had few assets, the car was really about all she had--and the car was not expensive--its only value was in providing an escape and an opportunity for pleasure. The gentleman was a widower and had lived across the hall from the woman before the nursing home when she had lived on her own in an apartment. They were friends, they often shared meals and TV time. She had a car, he could drive. They both liked to see new things and gradually for her--everything she saw was new.

The woman did not care or understand about the guardianship but she cared greatly if a guardian would restrict the visits from her friend and the trips in the car. The daughter was honest when I talked to her, she was embarrassed by the unseemliness of it all and wanted to put a stop to it.

We went to court and presented our case. The visit logs from the nursing home spoke for themselves. The woman was there but unable to testify. She did not recognize her daughter and the daughter did not go to her. The gentleman testified about the friendship and the meals and the TV shows and the car rides and there was only one pair of dry eyes left in the courtroom. The Judge allowed the car rides and visits to continue. The daughter got the guardianship appointment with the provision that there be no interference with the car rides or the visits. That day, the Judge successfully did what King Solomon proposed so many millenia ago. He split the baby.

Within a few weeks, I saw the obituary in the paper and there was no mention of the gentleman under Loved Ones Left Behind.

Personal Responsibility

For the last several years, the only criminal work that I have done has involved juvenile defense. Most of my other work involves representing children who are the subjects of child protection cases. I do a few other things when they happen by such as deeds, wills, bankruptcies and from time to time I will represent a parent in a child protection case but most of my work, and the part that gives me the most personal satisfaction, involves representing kids.

The thing that I like about representing kids--especially in Maine where their criminal acts are fairly minor and mostly a cry for help--is that the criminal code is written for the purpose of rehabilitation. The Juvenile Criminal Code clearly lays out it's purpose and the first two items are:

To secure for each juvenile subject to these provisions such care and guidance, preferably in the juvenile's own home, as will best serve the juvenile's welfare and the interests of society; To preserve and strengthen family ties whenever possible, including improvement of home environment.
Personally, those are my purposes in every encounter that I have with a young person so working with them in the context of the criminal system is an easy extension of my beliefs.

Yesterday, I traveled north to Charleston and the Mountain View Youth Development Center. Despite the euphemism, Mountain View is a kiddie jail. It does have a striking view of the mountains in Baxter State Park and it does look on the outside like a high school but the athletic fields are surrounded by high fencing and the doors are heavy and locked and I had to surrender all of my personal belongings at the front desk before being escorted into the visit room to meet with one of my young people. He shuffled in to see me, head down but anxious--"What are you doing to get me out?" he asked at first boldly and then tearfully, My reply was consistent, "What are you going to do to help me convince a judge to let you out?" For over an hour we had that conversation. I presented him with options that required his cooperation and some acceptance of responsibility. He kept repeating, "I just want to go home." "It wasn't my fault."

There are two parts of the youth development center. The first is for kids who have not yet been adjudicated (my client) or for kids that need a "shock sentence"--a few days or more just to scare the heck out of them--the other is for kids who have been committed until age 18 to the facility by a Judge. My client is tenuously poised on the edge of being committed. For more than two years he has been a regular in the courtroom--never for anything serious but consistently for the same type of behavior--all of which stem from not taking responsibility for his actions.

Yesterday, his part of the conversation contained minor variations of the "it's not my fault" theme repeated ad nauseum and peppered with the clear statement that he did not want to be committed. Finally, I said--"You know, probably most of the kids who have been committed will tell you that the reason they are here is someone else's fault" I told him that everyone that would be in the courtroom for his hearing in two weeks would be looking for a reason to send him home and he could ride home on the bus called personal responsibility. By then, his head was down on the table and he was crying. Once more, I told him, "You cannot control other people's actions but you can control your reaction to other people's actions. You are ultimately responsible for what your hands do, what your mouth does, where your feet take you. So, be a man, suck it up and decide to be in charge of your own life."

He's got two weeks to figure it out before I have to try and persuade a Judge to send him home.

Karma

Sometimes karma doesn't come around to bite you......Sometimes it knocks on your door at 7:30 a.m. and says, "Hey remember that title search you did for me for free a couple of years ago when times were tough, well I'm here to build you a new porch."

Alrighty then, build 'til your heart's content.All finished but the painting. What a difference! Thank you!