Daughter’s Day in Court

It’s hard to make a judgment whether I respect our juvenile court system. My first thought, after spending the morning at the county juvenile courthouse, is that it’s no wonder kids repeat offenses and have no fear of being caught.

I was over-prepared, as usual, and made sure my daughter was as well. We had all our documents in folders, had turned in all requested forms and statements, and dressed like we were going to court. During the 45-minute trip to the facility, we went over the process that I had discussed with the probation officer. In other words, we took it seriously.

Nervous and anxious, we walked into total chaos. There were hundreds of people herded into a noisy lobby with seats lining the walls. There were about 10 courtrooms, with people standing, leaning, sitting, and squatting all over. My daughter and I checked in and the clerk commented to my daughter, “You don’t look like you belong here.” My daughter responded, “I don’t belong here. I did make a stupid mistake, but I’m not like the other people here.” And it was true. We were surrounded by people who looked rough and rather street wise—everything from tattoo sleeves to miniskirts and half shirts. And those were the moms! I hate to make judgments, but there were some people in there who, in another scenario, would scare me and cause me to lock the doors of my car as I drove past. Sadly, they were juveniles, and many of them were in court directly from jail and minimally supervised.

After standing for about 15 minutes near our courtroom door (with no “gentlemen” giving up their seats, God forbid), the public defender called my daughter’s name to come speak privately. Brenda was a young, pretty lawyer and about as interested in us as she was in a wet toilet seat. She took us to a “private” location, which amounted to a seat out in the open, just in a different section of the lobby. In front of some strangers, she went over my daughter’s charges and her options. Then she noticed that there was a third charge involving drug possession that was being processed, so we couldn’t address the charges we were there for that day. That meant we had to wait around to see the judge so we could ask for a date in the future to come back and address all three charges: Shoplifting, Driving on a Suspended License, and Drug Possession.

I looked through my paperwork for another court notice indicating that we DID have a future date set for July 12. She knew nothing about that (probably because she didn’t look at any of our paperwork before she met us), so she told us she’d ask the appropriate court clerk between hearings what that was about. After she was done talking, she got up and headed back to Courtroom 5, so we figured we should follow her and that we’d be going into the courtroom. When I asked her if we were going in now (the appointed time on our notice), she laughed and said, “Oh, no. Make yourself comfortable, it’s going to be a while.” Thanks for telling us. We sat down and she went back to her original seat. I didn’t see her go speak with anyone “between hearings.”

The probation officer, Donna, with whom I spoke previously on the phone and had been emailing, came over to tell us what was going to happen next. She said we would see the judge and set a new date for a hearing, and at that time plead guilty to the worst charge and have the others dismissed, and be assigned some sort of probation. My daughter could also possibly be given a drug test (which I could visibly see my daughter was freaking out about). Donna said we might not be seen until noon! I was amazed, as it was only 9:30 a.m. and I just didn’t get it. She was empathetic and human at least. In fact, we both liked her approach very much.

Turns out we were called within a few minutes after that and were seated with Brenda and Donna. In a tiny courtroom with just some tables in a semi-circle, they did some formalities that required very little talking, and almost no one addressed my daughter or me. Brenda requested a new date, and they set it for about 7 weeks in the future. Then the judge said we were dismissed. I’d say we were in there about 5 minutes.

Donna met with us afterward to explain what had just happened before our eyes. On the future date, we will only be addressing the suspended license and shoplifting charge; the drug possession had been dismissed because they were incorrect. So, she only has to plead guilty to the stronger charge and the other one will be dismissed. She’ll be assigned some level of probation, and hopefully Donna can put her on her caseload. Also, the judge did NOT require a drug test at all, but I will be assessed a $400 charge for the public defender (for what????? aren’t PDs on salary? and what exactly did she do?) and a $25 court fee). I have the right to request financial help with that, though I doubt I’ll qualify. We had a nice, pleasant chat with Donna about what a great kid my daughter is, and some other small talk, and she sent us on our way. Done.

In summary, we traveled a total of 90 minutes, took PTO from work, dressed up for nothing (because no one really even looked at us), and got charged $425 just so we can be told to come back another time because all the stacks of paperwork that we were sent mean zero. None of our forms were read, our statements that were thoughtfully crafted were ignored, and all the things my daughter did wrong really don’t matter. Do they treat the juveniles who raped someone, robbed a convenience store clerk at gunpoint, or were in possession of meth and crack cocaine the same way? I love my daughter, but breaking the law is breaking the law. I can see how her offenses were light compared to other kids’, but I don’t see any deterrents in place after visiting this courthouse. My kid was the only one scared.

From Juvenile Court to Attorney General's Office--Big Step in One's LIfe

I think my daughter is a schlimazel—you know, the one who doesn’t do the stuff all the time, the one who it gets done TO. I think it was explained as the schlemiel spills the soup and the schlimazel is the one it’s spilled on.

For her, she’s done relatively well overall. No accidents, no tickets, no arrests, not too many bad moods, and not even staying out late. So, we blindly carry on, trying to forget about the past and not be too worked up by upcoming court dates to deal with the old stuff.

Too good to be true. She decided to spend time with a friend of hers, doing normal things like shopping and eating. She got dressed up in a pretty dress, did her hair, and wore new shoes her grandmother treated her to. She picked up her friend and on their way out, made a right on red, not realizing that it was the only intersection in this whole city of millions where you’re forbidden to do so. She was stopped immediately and ticketed. Upon researching her license, the officer discovered that her license is actually suspended—making this stop a huge problem. Long story short, her car was impounded.

I got the hysterical phone call to come pick her up and luckily I had come home from work early so I could come right away. The car was gone by the time I got there—I don’t understand why I couldn’t just take it myself, since my license is good and the car is registered in my name. But there was no sense arguing. We were both respectful to the officer—by training, instinct, and good sense. He could’ve thrown the book at her and had her arrested. Thank God there was nothing for her to worry about like in the past—such as pipes, residue, open containers…

This was a terrible situation—we had to make a plan because my daughter has not one, but two jobs.  I ended up getting up at the crack of dawn to take her to work and she took the bus to her second job. She relied on friends here and there to give her rides, but most of the time she was stuck at home. I let her cry over it.

In the meantime, she finally read her last ticket(s), which clearly said she  needed to attend traffic school in order to reinstate her license. She took a day to make arrangements and attended a week later. We also picked up her car at the impound lot. What a pain in the rear. I had to spend two hours in a police coding enforcement office near the airport and pay a fine of $150 to get the clearance to pick up her car. Then we had to find a second driver to get her car from the lot, which was about a half hour north of our house. Her buddy was her driver until she finally went to the DMV to get her license back. That made her crazy.

She’s now got her car back and we thought life would be good--BUT we found out that the Attorney General’s Office is on her trail. Instead of a hearing at the Juvenile Court, it’s been moved to the AG’s and it’ll be a real court proceeding. It  not only means that they’re tired of all these complaints, but she’s about one strike away from being detained. It also means that she may be placed on probation, where they can run her life for a long time, drug test her, put her in a program, and make her do community service  and maybe more. The case will be overseen by a probation officer until she’s 18 (in December). After that, one mistake and she goes to jail for sure. I spoke with the juvie social worker, a very negative, hard woman, and that’s what she said. I got defensive—I couldn’t help it. My child isn’t a thug or white trash, and she isn’t what’s on paper. Those are just things she’s done. I don’t deny it, I just don’t appreciate someone else categorizing my daughter without knowing her.

This is overwhelming and she’s very depressed. She apologized for being such a terrible daughter and it broke my heart. What could I do? I told her nothing will make me stop loving her, believing in her, and being proud of her. I know she tries, I really do, poor kid’s just a schlimazel.