Law & Order: Special Juvy Unit

The end is near for the felon in training who lives in my house. Hopefully, my son’s brush with law enforcement has taught him a valuable life lesson. My daughter asserts that she has learned a little something, saying “I had no idea you would have to go through so much crap for a speeding ticket.” It appears some good may come from this escapade.
My invincible 16-year-old son had a rough weekend earlier this year. He got in some trouble at church camp, enough so that he had to have a face-to-face meeting with the bishop. That turned out well. On his way home from his misadventure, he was stopped by the police because he was driving 88 miles per hour.
A trip to juvenile court was a little more imposing than any of us had anticipated. The recently-renovated courthouse features a courtroom fit for any TV drama. There’s an elevated bench, a witness stand, jury seating, gallery seating and bailiffs with guns strapped to their sides.
The judge entered to the command of “all rise,” which we did. He was in no mood to fool around. With a scowl befitting the best caricature of a curmudgeon, he expressed his displeasure in seeing familiar faces among those who would face his wrath this day. Speedy teen after speedy teen stood before him and learned their fates. The more he talked, the harder my son started to breathe.
The lovely select soccer player who drew the judge’s initial attention and ultimately his ire was harshly rebuked. She obviously had seen him recently in a similar context, and she was compelled to hand over her license. She was fined, sentenced to community service and had her driving privileges suspended for ninety days. We were next.
My wife and I flanked our son as we slowly were enshrouded by the cloud of judgment. The judge asked, “Son, were you really going 88 miles an hour?” He said the only smart thing, “Yes, sir.” The next question seemed irrelevant, but it was asked anyway: “Where do you go to school?” When the judge was informed that my son attends Magnet High, he said, “Magnet High. They only let the best and the brightest in there. You’re too smart to do something so stupid. Do you know that? You have a lot going for you, son. You shouldn’t behave this way.”
His Honor then asked, “Whose car were you driving?” The answer was “My car.” More questions: “Did you pay for it?” “Do you buy the gas?” “Do you pay for the insurance?” The answer to all questions was “no.” So, then the judge advised the appropriately humbled teen facing him that the car is not his, at all. It is, in fact, his parents’ car and they’re just letting him use it. Then, he asked “Do you have a job?” The answer, of course, was “no.”
I have to hand it to this judge. He’s obviously done this before. He said he didn’t want the parents, who had already given the kid so much, to cough up any more cash. He asked if the kid could find enough odd jobs to pay a fine. We assured him we could make that happen.
Here’s the bottom line: for 88 in a 70 on the interstate, the fine was sixty dollars. Plus, he has to attend a class called “Arrive Alive,” which costs forty bucks. The judge gave him two weeks to come up with the 100 dollars, or he would double the community service, which was 16 hours. Finally, the judge said, “Son, you’re going have to get used to double-dating, because you’re not going to be out joy riding with your buddies for a while. Your driving is restricted to business only until July First.”
I had to go back into the courtroom after we arranged for our community service, just to get a clarification of “business” for a 16-year-old kid with no job. For the record, it means he can drive to school or church and can run errands assigned by his parents. That’s it. This may have been the most brilliant stroke by our black-robed, crafty curmudgeon.
As for that community service: Try eight hours on a Saturday, wearing an orange vest, picking up trash long a major highway. Not coincidentally, the highway runs right in front of the juvenile justice complex. Also, every day after school this week, he has reported to a local homeless shelter to “volunteer.” He’s been accepting donations and organizing the linen closet. It’s not exactly the chain gang, but it sends a message.
The end is near. He has been on severe restriction, anyway, for the church camp trouble. Now, the judge has restricted his freedom of movement on top of that. We told him once he pays his fine and finishes his community service, his lockdown days are over. This weekend, he may be allowed to see his friends again. Until July 1, though, somebody else is driving.
I agree with his little sister, that’s a lot of crap to put up with for a speeding ticket. I’ve got a secret, though. I had a chance to talk to the judge after our court appearance. I thanked him and told him I liked his style. He said, “Thanks, good to see you.” I’m guessing my son doesn’t share the sentiment.

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