Juvy

One of my kids got shot last weekend.

I'm interning as a probation counselor at juvenile court two days a week for the practicum requirement of my program. I currently supervise 9 kids who are on probation which means that I: check in with them to see how they're doing, talk to their parents about their behavior at home, get school attendance and academic records, check their restitution payments, offer them suggestions for community service opportunities, etc. Most of my kids have done more trivial crimes like keying 20 cars (restitution payment of $20,000 after negotiations) and walking a burglarized flat screen TV through the woods.

I love it because I get to spend most of the day talking on the phone to people, because I get to observe some riveting court proceedings (law school? law school?!), and because it's all about narrative. It's slightly thrilling to open a new file - they are literally green cardstock filefolders - and start reading all the police reports, court reports and personal interviews to try to piece together that kid's story. Some of them I get to meet in person, like the 13-year-old I visited last week at a children's home. He was cute, goofy, and a little immature for his age. He has molested his little brother.

One of the kids I have connected with the most is Chuck*, a big and friendly 16-year-old. He's the only one of my kids who has my cell phone number, and last week we had this nice text-messaging conversation that he initiated: (All spellings are authentic.)

CHUCK: Dis is Chuck. Just checkin in.

ME: How are things going?

CHUCK: Good. Im straight.

ME: Good work. Stay straight. I still need your community service hours please.

CHUCK: Yea. I got you.

When I called him yesterday, he groggily tole me that he had just been treated at the hospital for a bullet wound. On Saturday night, he and his buddy went out to Jack-in-the-Box when a group of boys jumped his friend. Chuck jumped into the middle of the fight and then got shot in the pelvis. His friend got shot twice in the leg. The doctors can't take out his bullet because it's too close to a nerve.

When I called to get the police report, the investigating officer said that it was a gang-related incident. I was sad about the shooting, but devastated by that particular piece of news. His mom has now put him on lock-down. He'll be done with his probation in 2 months. I hope he still calls me.

*Name changed
**Sorry about the heteronormative language!

Obama Day Flashback

Even though I wasn't in D.C. on Inauguration Day, I still got to attend a ball to celebrate the historic day. A pub in Seattle's Fremont neighborhood called The Ballroom hosted in a very generous fashion: free appetizers, free drinks, free chocolate, free DJ. It seemed like the owners just honestly wanted us to share in their excitement, rejoicing and relief.

Between the radio and a TV at juvenile court, I was able to catch most of the ceremonies that morning, and I was teary throughout. I was especially moved by the quartet that played John Williams' arrangement of Simple Gifts. I taught that melody to my fifth graders a couple years ago, and we all sang it together. It would make me so happy if they remembered it.

My ever-so-talented roommate Cassie did my hair and make-up, and then took pictures. It kind of felt we were going to the prom, but Obama wasn't president when I went to the prom. Booyah!

We danced with a bunch of our friends. 

Laney and I danced in a cage. I like to consider it a symbolic statement about women's freedom to engage in democracy and elections. Women for Obama!

We ate delicious free local Theo chocolate. One of the their specialties has curry in it. When you come visit, I'll take you on a tour of the Seattle chocolate factory.

Back at my house, we broke out the Obama chocolates that my friend A. Middy gave me for Christmas. The sticker on my chest was a gift of The Ballroom and is now in my journal.

Obama at our fingertips.

NYC Has Ruined Me!

I just got a ticket for jaywalking.

There are a bunch of pointless lights on UW's campus, and I run through them every day going between the institute and the social work building. A campus cop on a mountain bike saw me run through one today and pulled me over (can you say that when you're not driving?) next to a light post. At first I wanted to laugh. In fact, I had to consciously refrain from giggling. Then he told me that the infraction cost $56, and I had to refrain from crying.

The biggest irony of this situation is that literally an hour earlier, I jaywalked with a friend across that very same intersection and complained to him about how uptight Seattleites are: "It boggles my mind how people in Seattle obediently stand and wait at a crosswalk when there are obviously no cars for miles." Those were my exact words an hour before I got a 56-dollar ticket.

I tried to tell the cop that for the past three years I had been living in New York City where jaywalking is a beautiful and accepted way of life. He didn't seem to care.

It took me what felt like 10 minutes to walk the final 2 blocks to my destination. I looked on with envy at the few rebellious souls who darted through the empty intersections.

Next time I'm going to cross a street illegally (for example, as soon as I leave this building), I will look out not only oncoming cars, but also for uptight bike cops.