“You know what, Cora? It didn’t seem brave. I just felt like I was respecting myself as someone other people would appreciate knowing, but only if I acted by who I am on the inside.”
Maria hits a long putt that curves in line with the slant of the green and goes in the cup for a 1-under par birdie. A perfect read of the trajectory.
“You may become my mentor in social outreach, Maria!” I say. “Seriously, I always feel like I’m on a mission, so I don’t take the time to just chat with people, relax, and enjoy their company.” Maybe it’s the “mission” idea I have, the belief that I have so much important work to do it keeps me from taking a risk to be right there in the moment with the whole me.
This is not my day for golf. My two putts result in a one over par bogey.
Chapter 8: Judgment
Once upon a time, Judgment Day came to pass. Is the soul lost or found?
DANIEL
Court day, and I am a mess. Consistent with my usual compulsion to be early to guarantee being on time, Mom and I arrive at the courtroom way early. She advised against coming so early but I insisted on sticking with my pattern, not even thinking about why she might be right.
The extra time I have to observe all the formalities reinforces how Serious, with a capital “S,” this is—guards with guns, no talking, no reading, hard pew seats, stand up when the judge comes in, no smiles. I have to concentrate hard just to keep my leg bouncing to a mild roar.
Mom motions to me to look behind me. Sean and Cora sit a few rows back. Their terrified expressions are not reassuring.
As the judge enters, she looks at me with a totally neutral expression. Neutral is not what I’m looking for—maybe kindly, or something along those lines.
Mom leans over and whispers, “Daniel, I love you.”
My concentration shifts from controlling my leg bouncing to stopping any tears from appearing.
The Commonwealth’s Attorney rises and says, “Your Honor, an agreement has been reached with the Defendant.”
My attorney supports my arm, indicating I should stand up with her and face the judge.
The Commonwealth’s Attorney continues, “The Defendant agrees to plead guilty to possession of marijuana, a Class 1 misdemeanor. He will be sentenced to eight months in a Department of Juvenile Justice Group Home. During that time, he will receive therapy for anxiety disorder, based on a recent assessment provided by a psychologist. The Defendant will attend his current high school under the approval and recommendation of the school’s principal. The Defendant will return each day, and on weekends and holidays during the eight months, to the DJJ Group Home.”
Thankfully, I have had some time in the last few days to think about the agreement proposed to the judge. It could end up much worse if the judge does not approve the agreement, which drops the distribution charge. Distribution is a felony and would mess up my chances at college acceptance and scholarships. There was evidence at the sale site, but it turned out my former stepfather didn’t want to testify about seeing me run that day. He would have been asked in open court about his previous threats of violence toward me. I fantasize how rewarding it would have been to glare at him and watch him squirm as others shook their heads at his behavior.
The judge asks to hear from the psychologist. She says she will not ask any personal questions about me in open court since she has his written report for the record.
Dr. Lewis takes the stand. We haven’t spent a lot of time together yet, but I like him, and at least he doesn’t look scared like Cora and Sean do.
“I am interested in hearing your analysis of the prevalence and effect of anxiety disorders among teenagers,” she says. “That could help with my judgment in this case and many others that come before me. My first area of interest for your comment, Dr. Lewis, is the remarkable increase in anxiety and fearfulness during the teenage years you noted in your report. You wrote that around 20 percent of teenagers experience a diagnosable anxiety disorder, and many adults diagnosed with an anxiety disorder trace it back to their teenage years. Why do you think this is?”
Dr. Lewis first looks at me and gives me his usual gentle smile, his open and clear eyes assuring me all will be okay. Then, turning to face the judge, he says, “Your Honor, thank you for your interest. As with any question about human beings, there are always two answers: physical factors and social experiences. Brain research has confirmed what we thought we knew for many years about adolescents: that maturity is uneven during the teenage years. The amygdala, the part of the brain that processes fear, develops way ahead of the prefrontal cortex, the source of reasoning in, for example, assessing and responding to fear.”
Dr. Lewis explained this stuff to me in our last session, but I couldn’t take it all in then. And I’m focusing a million times less right now. Mom looks like she’s not doing much better, fidgeting every two seconds.
“The reward center of the brain also matures earlier than the prefrontal cortex, driving much of the risky behavior of teenagers,” Dr. Lewis says. “This is a very serious matter, since the top three reasons for death among teenagers are accidents, homicide, and suicide. The relatively steady prevalence of both anxiety disorders and risky behaviors suggests the contribution of biology is significant.”
I turn around to scope out who is in court. Not many people. A few rows back, Cora looks intent upon what Dr. Lewis is saying; Sean catches my eye and smiles at me. Godfather is here too, sitting in the very back. I didn’t know he would be here. I’m glad he is.
“To summarize, the teenage brain is hard wired for both heightened perception of fear—anxiety—and heightened engaging with fear, or risk taking. At the same time, there is lack of reasoning to assess the fear and risks. All this suggests a learning approach is critical to balance out a developmental disjunction.”
“Thank you, Dr. Lewis, for that amazingly clear description of what I am sure are quite complicated physiological interactions,” the judge says. “Could you provide as clear a definition of ‘anxiety disorder’?”
“An anxiety disorder is prolonged, intense anxiety affecting daily life. Of course, all of us experience anxiety, or fear learning, alerting us to possible danger. But if the experience is intense enough or keeps coming back to us in memory or triggered associations, the fear is hard to unlearn, even once the apparent danger is gone.”
Geez, this is like being in a movie theater. And I am the main character!
“Examples of specific forms of anxiety disorder would include PTSD, panic attacks, phobias, and OCD,” Dr. Lewis explains. “Symptoms of anxiety disorder might be excessive worry but avoiding talking with anyone about it, trouble sleeping, restlessness, trouble concentrating, separation illnesses, substance abuse, and bodily adrenaline alarms like difficulty breathing or shaking. By the way, I should also say medication can sometimes interfere with unlearning the association of fear with certain experiences.”
“Thank you, Dr. Lewis,” the judge says. “I would now like to hear from Mr. Shepherd, Principal of Stone Creek High School.
Chief approaches the witness stand with the usual jovial bounce in his step.
“Mr. Shepherd, it’s highly unusual for a principal to want someone in a detention facility to remain enrolled in their school, not to mention attend regular classes rather than an alternative program.”
Smiling broadly at the judge, Chief says, “Your honor, we think of our school as much more than a series of classes and activities. We work on building community every day, first period, first priority. In my mind, you don’t throw someone away if they do something wrong.”
As Chief shifts his gaze to me, I imagine me taking on the look of a big old teddy bear, flopping freely now rather than sitting with the stiff back I had a few seconds ago.
“Don’t you think there is a time to stop, reflect, and take stock?” the judge asks.
“I absolutely think that, and the time for it is every day,” Chief says. “That’s what learning is to us. Students asking que
stions and getting answers from adults who are trained to listen and respond in a caring fashion.”
“Mr. Shepherd, your school’s approach has not been very effective in this case,” the judge firmly asserts.
Uh-oh, she’s out to discredit Chief and Stone Creek. I squirm around in silent protest.
“Your Honor, I see the difficulty not in what was learned at Stone Creek but rather what had not been unlearned from previous messages Daniel had received. Dr. Lewis just spoke about the difficulty in unlearning fear messages. Schools, traditionally, have done a lot to flame the fire of fears.”
Cora has talked to me before about this idea of unlearning. But Chief is explaining it better.
“I know,” Chief continues. “I’ve been there. We push kids along like machine parts, saying the reward will come ‘some day.’ And you can recognize the reward by its dollar worth. In fact, your integrity as a person will be defined by that outside measure, regardless of who you are, really. High school should help students find their real self, their power to inquire and decide, joy in working as a part of a community, and the magic of what can be accomplished. As Dr. Lewis explained, many young people are conflicted about those issues, either because of their past experiences or the value-less messages of our culture. It’s time we listen to young people, give them the power to direct their lives, and help them instead of saying, ‘We know what’s best for you, and it’s the same for you and you and you.’” Chief chuckles. “Sorry about getting up on this soap box, Your Honor. What I should say is, this young man is part of our community and we want—no, we need—to be there for him. Please allow that.”
The judge lets a smile slip out. “Mr. Shepherd, I would enjoy going for coffee with you one day.”
I want to applaud. Then I catch the eye of the bailiff and his look sobers me right up.
Chief returns to his seat. The courtroom is pin-drop silent. The Judge is reviewing the papers in front of her. Everyone watches every move she makes. I think about how Cora described Sotomayor, the power of a judge, and my desperate need to be understood.
The judge looks up, straight at me, her expression still neutral. “Daniel.” My attorney rises, pulling me up again by the elbow. “If you make this work for you for the next eight months, I’ll dismiss the charges and your record will be cleared.” She pauses. “Do you have any questions?”
I look at my attorney. She says nothing. Then I look at Mom, who beams at me. “No, Your Honor. Thank you.”
“I’ll see you in eight months.” The Judge rises to leave, and so does everyone else.
After leaning on my Mom for the longest hug ever, I shake my attorney’s hand, barely able to get out a thank-you.
When I finally make it to the courtroom door, I struggle to open the massive door, made of heavy, once extinct, American chestnut. Stepping onto the marble entranceway floor, I hear thunderous clapping break out. Nobody tells people to stop the noise. Even the guards smile.
Godfather is nowhere in sight, but I don’t blame him for not wanting to call any attention to himself. Cora comes over and surprises me with a big hug. Sean offers a fist bump and a smile as wide as an ocean.
Mom, our attorney, and I go out for a lunch celebration. The attorney wants to make sure I understand what will happen next—schedules, transportation, appointments with Dr. Lewis, and endless more details, which Mom is, thankfully, writing down.
As soon as we have eaten, I say, “Mom, I need to go to school. I need to be there today, not let this whole day be about court.”
She looks at the attorney, who smiles and nods yes.
I arrive at school just in time for soccer.
I’ve never felt such a need to run and run like a wild man, a happy wild man. All the good poured into me today came out in joy multiplied—the kind of joy you want to share with others. My own laughter surprises me and stimulates laughter returned from others. People come up to me for no particular reason and slap me on the back. It seems as if they just want to be close to the source of this new bundle of joy.
I leave school still feeling buoyant, and the feeling doesn’t leave me as the evening goes on, even though it’s strange to think this is my last night at home; tomorrow, life at the group home begins. It’s late now, and I’m still too keyed up to sleep. I open the spiral notebook Cora and I have been writing in and scribble my entry for the night:
Make miracles by paying attention to my life. The only way forward is the door opened by the present moment. Don’t serve time, let time serve my needs. Grow aware. Decide.
I’m learning change doesn’t happen in a straight, upward line. There are ups and downs. Several weeks after my court success, I run into Chief.
“How are things going, Daniel?”
“Not so good, Chief. I beat up on myself a lot for my stupid mistake.”
“What if you had lived sixty more years thinking life was all about success through money?” he says. “Many people do. You are lucky you failed in that belief early, so you don’t waste your whole life.”
Some days are amazing. I’m thinking of how much I’ll relish the opportunity to pass on this Chiefism one day as I join Cora in a quiet section of the cafeteria for lunch.
“I can’t stop thinking about what Dr. Lewis said in court,” Cora says. “I want to know so much more about brain research. But neuroscience is complicated, and to really learn about it would require a commitment of so much time.”
“What else are you going to do with your time?” I say. “Random activities that fill up your life?”
Rather than answer me directly, she shifts focus. Cora does this a lot.
“Seems like you’ve been thinking about time.”
“Kinda, in the reverse, like how much time I have for thinking.” I say. “At the group home, if you don’t cause any trouble, the staff pretty much leave you alone. Plus, I am finally able to sleep because of the meds I’m taking to key down my anxiety. And I can remember more about my father now.” I decide to bite the bullet and let her know what is really going on with me. “I asked Mom what the nighttime flying stories my father told me were all about. She said probably his experiences as an Air Force bomber pilot. She said he never recovered from the horrors of the genocide in Kosovo in the late 1990s. The reason for his drinking was to forget. I think maybe I picked up on some of my father’s anxiety.”
Cora literally gasps. I’ve never seen that kind of reaction from her before. “That is scary, Daniel. But I’m kind of like you in not liking surprises and wanting to know the source of problems.”
In the past, a statement like that would have thrown me. But I’ve had a lot of time for myself to think lately, and I don’t feel defensive. “I don’t blame my father for anything. I hope he has gotten past his anxiety, gotten peace somehow, because it sure is miserable.”
A pause in the conversation. The old me would feel nervous about saying all this stuff to someone. Then it hits me: “Cora, have we graduated from the spiral notebook to actually having a live dialogue with each other? You know, give and take over an important issue, opening up to each other?”
She looks startled, again. “Well, good for us, huh?” she says. “Since we’re on a roll, can I bring up something that has been nagging at me about your weed venture? You’ve never said anything about the drug dealer who got you in trouble. How did he get you to trust him?”
Lunchtime is over and people are leaving the cafeteria. We look at each other and nonverbally agree to stay at our secluded table.
I shrug. “He was Mr. Confident, wore expensive clothes, was in a prestigious college, and was nice to me. He was everything I wanted to be. And I think he wanted to help, maybe saw a lot of himself in me. I gave him the nickname ‘Godfather’ because he was from Chicago and wore expensive Italian clothes. Thinking about it now, it’s pretty ironic that I thought of him as some type of ‘father’ figure. I don’t blame him for what happened, even though he feels pretty guilty about it all.”
“You sti
ll talk with him!?”
“Yes, but that’s a secret. You can’t tell anyone. Will you promise?” With amazing force, the anxiety returns in an instant. Dr. Lewis has talked with me about the problem secrets create, feeling shame. But this secret has to be kept, at least for a while.
“I can see I’ve hit a nerve,” Cora says, suddenly formal. “I’m sorry for intruding. Anyway, if you’re doing something illegal, I don’t want to know about it.”
“No, that’s not it. He’s not dealing anymore, or doing anything else illegal either.”
“You know, Daniel, I’m not good with trusting others. And you haven’t been so good with trust in the past either. That’s what puzzles me about you and this guy.”
In the past, Cora would have just walked away from the table, literally. In staying, she’s saying she is willing to go with me to try to understand what’s going on for me, and maybe for her and the issue of trust.
“Godfather and I have spent a lot of time talking since my trial,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “He’s in law school, and the group home where I am is actually a project he devised for one of his classes. He visits and talks with three of us, individually, several times a week.”
I dig in my pocket for my wallet and find the picture I’m looking for—of Godfather and some of the other guys at the group home. “He’s the one in the sweatshirt, no fancy clothes anymore.”
“He’s never been caught for dealing?” Cora asks.
I lean forward and lower my voice to impress upon her the need for confidentiality. “No. Some strange story about a customer saying the last buy he made from Godfather was a controlled buy set up by the county cops. The guy said he wouldn’t testify against Godfather if he paid him a chunk of cash. Godfather told the guy he’d think about it. Then quit dealing until things cooled down. After my court date—he was there in court, by the way—he decided to stay quit for a while. Then Godfather read about the guy in the local paper … you know they have everyone listed who is charged with a crime, except juvenile’s names are left out. Anyway, Godfather read about the guy being charged by a grand jury with distribution of cocaine. There went credible testimony for the cops against him. But he hasn’t gone back to dealing. He thanks me for turning his life around.”
School Tales Page 18