Tag Archives: personal narrative

Jury Duty

 

 “Jury Summons Notice: You have been selected to serve as a Juror. Failure to report will be considered a criminal offense. Please report on your assigned date.” Receiving a jury notice from a federal court is an occasion for mixed feelings. I was never sure whether my first experience was typical, but it certainly was entertaining. I appeared at Michigan’s 3rd Judicial Circuit Court serving Wayne County and, by mid-morning, seven of us were sworn in to hear a civil suit. Since we weren’t allowed to take notes, we would need to recapture what happened afterward and agree to every detail of several days of testimony, no easy task. Plaintiff was a man in his late thirties suing Coca Cola and a truck driver for running a stop sign and smashing into his car. He hadn’t been injured at the time but, now, seven years later, was claiming his neck hurt and he was suffering from despondency as a result. He seemed listless, sitting with downcast eyes and pitiful expression.

Just as we were beginning to feel sorry for him, the defense revealed Mr. Despondent had since played several seasons of professional European football in the United Kingdom. Uh, oh. I could only wonder whether his neck hurt from soccer or he was despondent over a bad season. How can a professional soccer player complain of a sore neck from a seven-year-old automobile accident? But Coca-Cola’s attorneys didn’t have a compelling argument why their truck driver shouldn’t be held liable.

We were led to a jury room to begin deliberating, and a fellow-juror turned to me and said, “We’ve decided to elect you foreman, so tell us what to do.”

No one had said how a foreman was to get a jury to reach a consensus, so I pondered a minute. “All right, but the first thing we should do is to agree about what we heard. What I heard was the truck driver went through a stop sign and smashed the plaintiff’s car. Although he went to a hospital for examination, he wasn’t injured enough to prevent playing professional European football. Now his neck aches, and he’s despondent. Sorry, but I’m despondent even being here. But the defense didn’t give us a reason why they are not liable for the accident, right?

Since no one heard anything different, we voted on slips of paper and decided to find for Mr. Despondent’s seven-year-old bumps and bruises and his smashed car. But now we needed to decide what that meant. “We have to consider the cost of plaintiff’s car and hospital examination and, after that, his pain and suffering. My problem is I think this guy is faking his disabilities. If you agree, let’s cover his out of pocket costs and get him out of here. Maybe he’ll have a better soccer season next year if he plays for another team. Each of us should write a dollar number on a slip of paper so we can see what the maximum and minimum are we think he should receive.”

The least amount was $10,000, the most $2,000,000.  I went over the actual costs and took another poll before we decided $40,000 was an amount everyone could agree with. We trooped back into the courtroom and the judge thanked us for having decided appropriately. We later discovered Michigan law allows plaintiff’s attorneys up to 47% of awarded damages. I could only hope Mr. Despondent had enough money to buy a few soccer balls and a happier outlook on life. At least we saved Coca Cola two million dollars.

We returned to the waiting room and were called back to a courtroom to hear a criminal case. A young, tough-looking, black defendant in prison garb was charged with shooting a jewelry store owner after robbing him. He huddled with a court-appointed attorney while the charges were read and prospective jurors called to the jury box. Each was asked whether they could make a fair and impartial judgment after hearing the testimony. The defendant’s attorney asked one prospective juror whether she could remain unbiased if someone testified the defendant was seen in the vicinity of the crime. She was dismissed for having potential bias. Apparently, to prove his point, the attorney then asked the next potential juror, “On the basis the defendant is presumed innocent until proven guilty, could you remain unbiased even if testimony revealed he emerged from the jewelry store with a smoking gun in his hand?”

Before the startled juror could reply, a man seated with me in the rear of the courtroom mumbled in a voice loud enough that carried all the way to the judge’s bench, “Hell No.” The entire courtroom was deathly silent; everyone turning to stare at our suddenly-mute juror ranks.

The defense attorney turned to the judge, “Your Honor, I want the prospective juror who said that to identify himself and be removed from the courtroom.”

The judge commanded, “Whoever said that, please stand up.” After a moment of shuffling feet and embarrassment, a guy meekly rose to his feet.  “Prospective juror, you are excused.  Please return to the Juror’s Room on the first floor.” There was a sigh of relief that a moment of unpleasantness had passed and business resumed.

However, the man who had actually spoken the words was still seated beside me and we smiled at each other in mutual understanding. Seconds later, he was sworn in without difficulty. After the panel was filled, the rest of us were excused and I returned to the jury room. In this case, perhaps, sleeping dogs should be left alone.

I’m Nothing Without You

A writer is supposed to write with a particular audience in mind. My editor tells me that just about every time she reviews my articles. I know. I know. I know. It’s something I’m sure I learned in grade school and have been striving to put into practice every time I sit down at my computer. When I type an e-mail, it’s to someone specific. A thank you note, it goes to someone specific. Why then, do I find it so hard to figure out whom I’m trying to reach through each of my blog posts? Can’t I just love to write, without having to please anyone other than myself? Of course not! Unless I’m writing in a diary, I hope to be interesting to somebody else.

My problem is not simply a difficulty in identifying an audience. It’s complicated by my desire to not exclude anybody. When my kids were young, I enforced a house rule that “everybody plays together or your friends go home.” No hurt feelings; no one left out or sitting on the sidelines. Honing in on just one specific target audience is hard for me, because by focusing on one group, I’m afraid I may alienate the others out there on the fringes, whom I also care about. Fourteen years of experience with Vacation Bible School shows me that the ever important audience varies according to one’s perspective.

I once thought VBS was only for children. In 2000, my family and I joined a relatively small church of about 200 members. We spent the first year getting acquainted with the worship services and the people. We weren’t expected to serve in any capacity. It was our time to settle in and get comfortable. Summer came, Polar Escape (a winter-wonderland program) was being promoted, and I had to ask, “What exactly is VBS?” and “What do you do at VBS?”

I was given standard answers: VBS is where children come to learn about God in a fun, creative, inviting environment. They often make crafts, participate in games, eat snacks, learn dance moves to songs, and hear Bible stories. I’ve since discovered that, beyond those things, a great experience depends upon who hosts VBS, the curriculum they purchase or create, and the amount of energy people involved with the program are willing to put in. Each unique presentation is limited only by imagination, time and a budget.

At St. Timothy Presbyterian Church, where I had that first year to relax, our VBS accepted children as old as sixth-graders and as young as three-year-old, potty-trained preschoolers. The kids were dropped off by their parents for a few hours each morning, Monday-Friday, for five days. Every child, regardless of denomination or church affiliation, was welcome. Older youth and adults led the young children through each planned activity. Unconventionally, the church absorbed all costs. Pastor Janet Noble-Richardson was adamant that money would not interfere with a child being able to attend. She insisted that the outreach would be free to the community. For some parents, VBS offered a perfect time to run errands without the kids in tow.

When I arrived to register my seven-year-old son and nine-year-old daughter for their first VBS, I was surprised at the transformation my church had undergone. We walked through hallways full of artificial snow, life-size penguins, and elaborately painted backdrops. The kids weren’t just going to attend VBS, they were going to experience it through all five senses. It was impressive, but I really didn’t know all that I was missing until the next year, when I was recruited to teach the preschoolers.

My twin boys were about to turn four and would be with me in class. I had been forewarned that the preschool teacher’s role was probably the hardest, due to the children’s short attention level, their possible anxiety in being separated from their moms, and the fact that our group didn’t rotate to other classrooms like the older children did. If nothing else, I was well-prepared with patience, a schedule of activities, and supplies to keep us busy. My room was staffed with three other parents, which gave us a ratio of about one adult for every four children. Yet, just minutes into our day together, my son was bit on the arm by a child I didn’t know. Eric cried. The boy cried. Eric bled and I held him on one hip as I tried to stick to the plan. I delayed a trip to the doctor’s office for antibiotics, because I had a class to manage. When I explained the incident to the boy’s mother, at the end of the morning, she wanted to know what my darling had done to antagonize her son. Day one couldn’t have ended soon enough.

The following year, I volunteered to once again teach the preschoolers…and the director let me. Thankfully, everyone was fine, we enjoyed our time together, and I fell in love with my VBS audience of boys and girls.

For nearly a decade, I took on an additional role and helped decorate the church in preparation for our guests. Other members and I painted, sewed, sawed, hammered, designed, glued and came up with intricate ways to amaze. We built outdoor classrooms: first a whale, then a hut, a burro to crawl through, even a ship. A stuffed lion, giraffe, buffalo, horse, cow, puppet theater, costumes for the closing plays. Heavy jobs often went to the men, but ladies weren’t shy about wielding hammers and staple guns too. Painting was popular for anyone, between five and seventy-five, who could hold a paintbrush or sponge. Forget the budget. Dozens of us donated time and money to finish our jobs. The only things slowing us down were our need for sleep, occasional illnesses and injuries.

Here was a whole other audience, men and women of all ages working together, committed to serving. VBS was for us too. We formed unforgettable memories and lifelong friendships.

Kelly Bixby photography

Annually, I’m still involved with VBS at a different church. Now, the audience has become easier for me to single out. It’s expanded to include the grandparents who enjoy watching their grandkids perform a song, the retirees who step into new roles as musicians, camel herders, weavers and rope makers, and the visitors who are in awe as they admire and smile at the scenes I’ve helped create. VBS is for my friend who called to find out what she had missed on the day the children roasted marshmallow Peeps over a pretend fire. It’s for my current pastor who I recently found hiding in a storage room. He was dressed as an ancient Israelite and eagerly awaited his entrance into a skit. It’s for everyone I’ve had the pleasure of dancing with as we sing praises to God.

There are some people who don’t understand the hype. They think it’s totally absurd to spend time and resources on temporary decorations. They say that Vacation Bible School doesn’t require hours of cutting, pasting, hanging, and gluing. Hallways and classrooms don’t have to be elaborate. Buildings don’t need to get dressed up with palm trees and waterfalls or rocket ships and aliens. I’ll admit that all of that is true. Getting children excited about God and helping them get to know Him better are the goals. But, the cynics have a totally different perspective than I do. At least I’ve figured out Whom the extravagance is really for–finally, I’m sure of my audience.

Let’s hope it doesn’t take me another decade to identify who I write for…