My Secret Career

I have had a secret career.
Everyone just assumed I spent my life teaching and educating.

Really I may have spent just as much time,
Often in the quiet moments,
In the darkest minutes of the night,
Or in the car,
Or when things got quiet enough for me to think—

I have spent just as much time
Volunteering as a criminal prosecutor.

Yes, me.
Imagine me dressed in a business suit,
Pacing before the jury,
12 individuals who have volunteered their time to judge the guilt or innocence
Of a criminal—
Of someone who should have known better,
Should have done better,
Should have acted differently,
But didn’t.

I have volunteered my empty moments
Arguing the guilt of this criminal,
This lowlife,
This good-for-nothing,
This failure.

I have reminded the jury (and the criminal) of every time
She has not lived up to the standards,
Has said an angry word,
Has said something that was not as clear as it could have been,
Has failed to say something she should have.

I have reminded the jury (and the criminal) of
Moments when she was too busy for her children,
Moments when she ignored the needs of others around her,
Moments when she acted selfishly or inconsiderately,
Moments even 15 years ago because each moment should be brought back up.

I have reminded the jury that this person deserves punishment,
Deserves the judgment of others.
I have used derogatory terms toward this criminal
And argued that she will not change.
She deserves what she gets.
She should continue to serve time for every infraction of the past,
Whether she has already served time or not.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

However, because life is full of contradictions,
in my free time,
I have also offered myself up to sit in the jury box,
To sit in each of the 12 chairs,
To offer up my own criticism,
My own, “Oh, my!  How could she?!”
My reiteration of the should’s and the shouldn’ts.
The shaking of my head in disgust,
My head bowed in embarrassment that I was
Exposed to this lowlife’s lowest moments.

When I didn’t feel like sitting in each of the 12 chairs,
I offered the seat to the very people who have sat in judgment of her as well,
I helped these others take notes,
Reminding these others of this lowlife’s failures.
I have offered up the criminal on a platter to these others.


Imagine as well,
This blond-haired middle-aged woman who began her career as a prosecutor as a blond-haired teenager (or maybe child)
Is also the same twelve blond-haired middle-aged women in the jury who began doing their volunteer service as blond-haired teenagers (or maybe children)
AND
Is also the same blond-haired middle-aged woman in the defendant’s seat who began failing
And missing standards
And forgetting
And losing her cool
And making mistakes
As a blond-haired teenager (and definitely child).

I have spent my life sitting in the
Defendant’s chair and witness seat
Being prosecuted and judged by those who look and act just like me.

Who needs external judgment-makers
When my own internal judgment-makers
Are so much more effective?
 
This internal prosecutor and jury
Have books and books of notes
Of infractions
And errors
And failures
And are so keen to remind me of these.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Sitting on my second jury on my birthday just a few weeks ago,
I listened to 11 other individuals talk about a 4-time felon who was
Guilty of aggravated robbery,
Of possession of a large amount of drugs while on parole,
Guilty of burglary while also on parole,
And then finally guilty of possession of a firearm while on parole.

This man who was sentenced to 40 years that was reduced to 8,
Sentenced to 8 years that was reduced to 2,
This man who openly admitted the guilt of the 3 previous felonies,
This man on video,
This man with fingerprints,
This man with DNA is guilty.

Yet, the jury was discussing “mistakes,”
“Poor choices,”
“Bad decisions,”
And each was desperate to save the man from dying in prison.
This jury of strangers was desperate to rehabilitate this criminal,
This jury of strangers had hearts torn about a man who did not seem capable of change.



Maybe I need to change my 2nd career.
If a jury of strangers can find mercy for a four-time felon,
If a jury of strangers can discuss “poor choices” for significant crimes,
Why do I find such ease in holding myself accountable for “crimes” done 40 years ago?
For words spoken in anger,
For inactions that were unintentional,
For mistakes made?

Maybe as judge, I need to dismiss the case.
I need to release the prisoner.
I need to realize time served is more time than this person deserved,
That this low-life is instead a
Gifted, thoughtful, considerate, loving individual who deserves to be let off
To live a life without handcuffs, accusations, and constant judgment,
Free to skip down the sidewalk in the sunshine,
Free to feel the wind in her hair,
Free to go find life where she can find it.