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of the police, while I had continually refused to submit to their trickery. I saw my fathers shaking fingers, as his whole hand forced the pen across the paper, signing over our home. They did not get what they wanted from me, and I was certainly ready to accept the experience of jail, so they had to watch my father suffer. When we were walking out of the police station, I had wanted a gun so bad I now felt the angry taste of confrontation in my mouth. I tightened with my thoughts, as I felt their blur of blue tumble my head into a deep distain. It was all clear to me, the way they had everything set up, as silence came across the courtroom, as if everyone was waiting to suck on the unseen niple of the law. Our buldging mother, who throws our shouts in the wastebasket. The judge began to talk, as my probation officer made the final submission of my report. The probation officer was blind, and I really believe he only felt the kids. How else could he be there? He wore shades. That was enough for me. He was a good man. His movements seemed so sensitive among all these bull faces. The negro kids looked on him with pleasure and made way for him, when he walked. Blind or not, in this stupidity, those shades are a good sign, I thought. It seems to me. Cough. It seems to me, that this boy is headed toward alot of trouble. This is the first time that he has actually been brought before the court, but according to my report, he has been questioned on many occasions. What about this Michael? With your permission your honor, as Michael's representive, I will speak for Michael, stated the aid of Father Lawnegan. On occasions Michael has been known to be involved in fist fighting, but we of Saint Bernards believe it has always been in interest of the underdog. Gang fights, I believe, would be the more correct term, Father.