THE DARK SIDE: A day in children’s court

Listen to this article

An ancient witticism goes something like this: The children are the future … And that’s why I stockpile so much ammunition.

Clever as the saying is, it is not a view to which I ascribe. I mean, sure, I do stockpile a lot of ammunition, but that’s not why.

On the contrary, besides practicing law, I recently started a side gig teaching chess to elementary school students. It never occurred to me that, after a long life of bachelorhood, I would discover that I love children. But there it is. I like some of the kids so much that I wish I could clone and sell them.

I teach in all sorts of schools — public, Catholic, Montessori. I haven’t the faintest idea what a Montessori school is, but the students there are great. I recommend it highly to anyone who has children.

I enjoy the children so much I was even considering going back to practicing law out at children’s court. I quit that back in the early 1990s because the system was so atrocious. I found that children just stayed in the system until they turned 18, no matter what their parents had done to them, and then were dumped out onto the street.

But I have been assured by many of people over the years that it has greatly improved. Parental rights actually get terminated and children actually get adopted, they said.

Nevertheless, when, back in August, one of the judges encouraged me to start taking cases out there, I said I’d look into it, without any actual intention of doing so.

Still, I was having so much fun teaching chess that I was thinking about it.

But then I ventured out there for a hearing that was ancillary to a criminal case I’m handling. I saw a system run by social workers who only know how to do two things: Turn a blind eye to horrific abuse or blast away at mosquitoes with bazookas.

I shared that observation the next day with a juvenile court judge and two of his clerks and they were very impressed by how perceptive I am. “Some do-gooders spend years in children’s court and never come to that realization,” one clerk said. “But you figured it out in just one day.”

“That’s because they’re just social workers with law degrees,” I replied, “rather than real lawyers; and they carry bazookas, too.”

So, I don’t think I’ll be going back to children’s court on any kind of regular basis any time soon.

Besides, helping people navigate the labyrinth of children’s court would require me to break all three of the cardinal rules I live by: don’t tell other people how to raise their children; don’t tell other people how to spend their money; and don’t tell women what to do, period.

Seriously, I don’t even wear a seat belt when I drive a car, but I should tell some mother she has to buy a car seat for her 8-year-old?

As The Who song says, “The kids are alright.” I’m sure they’ll be just fine without me. Meanwhile, I’ll stick to playing chess, amassing ammunition and experimenting with human cloning.