By Chris Stain

Max (not his real name) is sitting with his head down and I think that he is clasping his hands on his thighs. I can’t tell. I am beside his mother and we are both sitting silently and stoically. We are waiting for the judge to give her disposition on the case.

This is Max’s second time in juvenile court this year. He has violated the terms of his probation. I am there this morning to offer some support to his mother. She is worn out. She is tired of Max and wants him out of her house. I think that she is hoping that the judge will sentence him to the Department of Juvenile Justice (our youth prison system). I think that she would be relieved. I am seething inside and I have no right. He isn’t my son. I have not had to “put up with his mess” (her words) for 16 years. She is really tired and I have sympathy. I met Max just this February and I am already feeling a sense of weariness.

Max needs money. His mother is working as a night nurse. She is single and has four children to raise. She is doing her best but it is really hard. Max needs money. He tells me that he can’t find a legit job. He needs money. I have no good answers for a 16 year old black boy who is barely in school about where to find a job in this climate. I am exhausted today. Depleted.

Juvenile court feels to me like the saddest place on earth. I am not in touch with my emotions today. All I feel is numb. What are we going to do for the Maxes of the world? They need concrete help and soon. They can’t afford to wait for a year, a month, a week. At 16, a week is a lifetime. The President is giving a “jobs” speech tonight. It turns out that I am going to have to miss it since I am hosting an Attica-related event. I don’t have to hear it though to know that it will offer no solace for Max. There will be no proposals to spend even $100 million dollars on young people like Max.

Is it time to get discouraged yet? I feel I have no choice but to push forward. There was another call today from a young woman asking for some help. She wants to come by to talk with me tomorrow. She says that she was referred by another young woman who I helped last year. So I have to push through my despair again. I have to buck up because there is more work to be done. Honestly though, I want to go to bed, pull the covers over my head, and just weep. There is no time for that…

P.S. Max was given another chance. The judge heard our pleas to allow him to return to a community-based intervention. I hold out hope for Max.