Matt approached the judge, his waist-long dreadlocks pulled back from his face, a black bandana hanging from his back pocket.
“Thanks for always supporting me,” Matt said to his dad and me moments earlier.
I gave him a hug. “That’s what families do.” Biological or chosen, I thought.
Eight times in the past year Matt appeared in court for his arrest during an Occupy Wall Street protest a year ago. Today the judge must rule.
“Is the prosecution ready?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“What are the charges?”
“This young man was arrested when he refused to leave the sidewalk after orders were given. He is charged with resisting arrest, refusing to disperse, trespassing, blocking traffic and intent to harm an officer.”
“Those are serious charges, young man,” the judge said. “How do you plead?”
I tightened the grip on my husband’s hand. I thought of another time, another courtroom. I heard the chants. What do we want? Peace. When do we want it? Now! Hey, Hey, LBJ. How many kids did you kill today? The Whole World’s Watching.
I cried both times.