The Judge

The Judge

There was a lot of fancy lawyer talk and all at the court. But I

didn’t pay too much attention to the stuff I couldn’t understand,

because I was just happy to be in the room with my Mama and

Daddy, and Mom and Pop and Aunt Rhoda. Even though they had to sit way away from me, I could still wave to ‘em, at least until the deputy made me stop. Me ‘n Mckee ‘n the little kids was put in this special place by ourselves, but at least we were with each other, even though there was some nurses and deputies there with us to keep everybody changed, quiet, and outta trouble.

Finally the judge called up our case. After all the fancy talk the

judge asked Miss Atkinson what she had observed about our case. This lady went on and on about how we had been “cruelly whipped” in public, and totally humiliated by our mother, who had been abusing alcohol at the time. And she talked some about the car wreck, and how there was some kind of a “systematic use of violence” in our family, and that Daddy slappin’ Mama proved it.

Then he called on each one of the grown-ups, Mama, Daddy, Mom,

Pop, and Aunt Rhoda, and the lady I had seen talkin’ to the deputy at the accident. Then he called Mckee. All Mckee could do when he got up there was cry and ask the judge not to let Miss Atkinson make ‘em stick him with needles and give him medicines to calm him down all the time. The judge told Mckee to go back to his seat and asked to see the medical records about him. He looked at them for a while with a frown on his face. Then he called on me.

They made me swear on the Bible, just like they did Mckee `n

everybody else. Then the Judge said, “Willie, what would you say if we were to put you and the other children in a foster home, away from your parents.”

“I don’t think I would like that one bit, Sir,” I answered.

“Say `your Honor,’ not `Sir,’” the deputy standin’ there said.

“Leave him alone,” corrected the judge. “Let him talk his way.” Then

he said, “Willie, I want you to tell me why you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yes, Sir—Your Honor,” I corrected myself. “You see, I know my

Mama and my Daddy don’t always do the right things, and sometimes they can say `n do things they wouldn’t do if they hadn’t been drinkin’. But there is a big difference in havin’ me ‘n Mckee ‘n Mama and Daddy and all the kids together, than in havin’ us kids in the house with some weird people we don’t know. Mrs. Styvesant, she don’t even like me.” He kinda raised his eyebrows when I said that. He asked me if I thought my Mama and Daddy loved me. I

remembered the things Mama used to say when I was little and was helpin’ her with the laundry. So I said, “ No matter what else happens, or what else we do to each other, there’s love there. I know that even when My Mama and Daddy are actin’ ugly to me, they still love me.” “You don’t think that anyone else could love you?” he asked. “I don’t know about that, “ I answered.

“Don’t you think that other people, like Mrs. Styvesant or Miss

Atkinson, care about you?” he asked again. Well. I was gettin’ plenty scared, him askin’ me all these questions, with all those people in the room lookin’ straight at me, and I didn’t know what to think. But then I looked up at Mama, and she was sittin’ there lookin’ at me, actin’ all proud of me, like she used to, before all the mess started up with her and Daddy. So I decided she was tellin’ me that

I was doin’ real good to tell the judge everything I was, and to keep on doin’ it. “That lady, Mrs. Styvesant, she says she loves children. Maybe she does. But I know she don’t like me. She and Mr. Stuyvesant always sniffed when they talked at me. Like I was stinky trash. She just wanted me so she could show off to her friends how good she was. But she drinks just like Mama. And I know that she definitely don’t love me. My grandma, Mom, said one time that you can say you love kids all you want to, but it don’t mean a thing if you don’t love the ones you’ve got.”

He looked at me real funny for a second, and for some reason a few

people let out a giggle. I didn’t see what was so funny, but I shut up and looked around. Then the judge banged his big mallet on his desk and said, “Order! Bailiff, remove anyone else who disturbs the witness.” Then he looked at me and smiled, real kindly like, and his eyes was kinda twinklin’ at me. “Go on, son,” he said, and his voice kinda sounded like a smile, too, and Mama was still smilin’ at me, so I felt a lot better. I said, “Your Honor, Sir, I don’t know how it can ever be done to get Mama and Daddy not to drink, or Daddy to want to be with his family more than with those other, more important folks. But God gave us the Mama and Daddy we’ve got. We belong with each other. I don’t see how Miss Atkinson playin’ like she’s God and actin’ like she’s Hitler, stickin’ little kids with needles and tyin’ ‘em up in beds so they can’t move, is gonna help anybody.”

“How do you know about Hitler?” he asked.

I said, “Well, Sir, sometimes, whenever there ain’t no cartoons or

else Lone Ranger or things on the TV, they show stuff about World War Two, or else some other programs that tells about how things are. When all you can do is watch little kids, and you can’t go out and play, you have to watch stuff like that. That Hitler was a terrible fella who killed folks in gas chambers, had ‘em tortured all kind of ways for experiments and such—stickin’ weird drugs up in people with needles to see what would happen. I figure what Miss Atkinson done to Mckee ain’t that much different.”

When I said that, Miss Atkinson went all white in the face and let

out a big huff of air. She didn’t do nothin’ else, though, cause the judge was lookin’ right at her.

He turned back to me and said, “I see. But Willie, your parents are

accused of some really violent behavior, and of being dangerous to you, and drinking too much around you and the other kids. Can you give me a really good reason why I should put you back in such an awful situation?” He was lookin’ at me as if he really did wish he could have a good reason to do it. I thought like I’ve never thought in my life, and I talked to Jesus, too, all up in myself, askin’ Him to help me to know what to say, but not lettin’ on to anybody. I must have looked kinda strange for a long minute, ‘cause the judge finally said,

“Well, Willie? Can you tell me a good reason?”

All I could say was what came up in my heart, then. I don’t know

where it really came from, but I finally said, “Mr. Judge, Sir, all me ‘n Mckee ‘n Mama and the rest of us are, is who we are together. My Mama told me that a long time ago, when I was a little kid. I didn’t really know what she meant ‘til I met Mrs. Styvesant and Miss Atkinson. They think they’re doin’ some great big, good thing. But like Mama said, if you take away our family, you take away who we are. What good is that gonna do us? Mckee don’t have to be stuck with no needles to get him to mind somebody, or tied up in no bed. Just tell her to stop tryin’ to make him be somebody’s kid besides his own Mama’s. How in the world is some big important lady from the government gonna know better than our

own Mama how we’re supposed to be loved, or what kinda lovin’ we need when bad things happen?

He smiled at me again and thought for a second. Then he said, “But

what about the beatings? You don’t think your parents are too violent?”

“Mr. Judge, I don’t know how to give you a good reason that you all

can like. I just know that lady over there is my Mama, and that nobody else ever can be. And I never ever wanted to say it out loud, but every once in a while I do stuff that I know I ought to get my little hind end beat for. Miss Atkinson calls that `violence’ but she don’t call tyin’ up Mckee or stickin’ him with needles `violence.’ My Mama never did anything like that, or my Daddy neither. We’re all the same flesh and blood. We know how to love each other better than anybody else does. It ain’t gonna help nobody if they split us all up. Please don’t take away our family.”

Well, after I said all that to the judge, he looked at me real funny for

a second or two. Then he looked at the papers on his desk some, and he sorta smiled to hisself. And then he said that the court was in recess and that the lawyers was all to come someplace ‘n talk with him.

We mighta had recess, but we didn’t get to go out ‘n play or nothin’.

The deputies said we had to be kept in their custody until the judge

made a rulin’. So here I sit in this room, waitin’ on the decision of the judge.

The End