Convicted At Any Cost

I read John Grisham's The Innocent Man over the weekend. If you haven't read it, you should. If it doesn't make you steaming angry or scare you shitless, it should. The Innocent Man is a non-fiction book that traces the stories of Ron Williamson and Dennis Fritz, two men down on their luck in Ada, Oklahoma. In 1988, Williamson and Fritz were convicted of 1st degree murder they did not commit. Grisham dissects with minute detail the mindblowing incompetence and wanton malice of the "justice" system that ultimately lands one man in the death row, and another in prison for life. The story is bone-chilling to me, because Ron Williamson was a bipolar (like my son) and was convicted in spite of being clearly mentally incompetent to stand trial.

The Innocent Man has a happy ending, of sorts. Williamson and Fritz were ultimately freed due to DNA testing that proved that another man had actually committed the crime. But their stories are not unique. The Innocence Project, a non-profit organization that helps the wrongly convicted has succeeded in exonerating nearly 200 innocent people, some of whom spent over 15 years in prison sentenced for crimes they did not commit. And there are many more still waiting for justice. There are no checks and balances in the "justice" system. When a prosecutor can be allowed to hang onto a case with no evidence, the public defender system is rotten, crime labs are wrought with incompetence and juries of "peers" are ridden with prejudice, we will keep on sending innocent people to jail, or even to their deaths. And even if the innocent are later on freed, they are not entitled to compensation.

Justice is not only blind, it's deaf and dumb as well.

Yule

Today at precisely 7:22 p.m EST is the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere, which marks the beginning of Yule, a thirteen-day midwinter celebration. Yule is the time when Sunna ceases her descent to the night and arises again towards the midsummer.

Yule is a time of remembering our ancestors. Yule eve is also known as Mother's Night, and it's devoted to honoring the Disir, the female ancestral spirits. During Yule, the borders between the Nine Worlds are the thinnest; elves, wights and jotuns roam this world of ours; and the dead may manifest to the living. Yuletide is also the height of the Wild Hunt, where the Alfather leads a host of dead across the stormy skies. It is believed that during Yule it is not good for a traveller to be alone on the road.

Yule is a time of merry celebration. Yule logs are lit to burn away burdens and worries of the past year. The best food is prepared in a grand feast and offered to relatives and friends, as well as to house wights for good luck and protection for the coming year. Yule tree, an evergreen representing Yggdrasil the World Tree is brought inside and decorated to bring good fortune.

Yuletide is holy and a time of peace. Frith is held between everyone and disputes put aside. It is the time for family, remembrance and joy.
*** Happy Yule! ***

Anniversary

This month marks my 10th year as East Tennessean. In December 1996 I landed, "fresh off the boat", from the proximity of the Arctic Circle to the backwoods of Kingston. The ramshackle cabin my then-fiancee and I were leasing had no heating, scant insulation, broken windows and yard littered with rifle shells. We were so broke that a can of Laura Lynn refried beans was a feast. With only one vehicle, I spent endless months at the cabin, emailing resumes with a 9600 baud dialup connection, watching Geraldo on TV and trying to stay warm while she was at work. Those were trying times, but also magic, once-in-a-lifetime times. It was a great adventure.
I often wonder if folks around here realize how fortunate they are to be living here. There is so much beauty in these ancient mountains and valleys. The volunteer spirit springs from the land around, from close-knit communities forged by hardship and common faith. As our country is being ravaged by avarice and callousness, here between the Cumberlands and the Smokies the true American spirit of unity and caring for fellow countrymen still lives. This is my home, and I'm proud to be from around here.

Mom Gives Up On "ADHD" Kid

In South Carolina, a frustrated mother had her 12-year-old son arrested for opening a Christmas present early and now plans to give up custody of the boy. Apparently, the boy had been diagnosed with ADHD, but medication was not helping. This may be a result of common misdiagnosis. ADHD is treated with stimulants (such as Ritalin), which make a bipolar child go absolutely bonkers.

The Real Reason

Me: "We had a meeting at your school today. They said that you told them that sometimes you want to hurt yourself."
Junior: "Yeah."
Me: "You do? How?"
Junior: "I want to stick a knife into my brain."
Me: "How come? We've talked about how you've got a very special brain."
Junior: "No I don't. I never use it. I hate my brain."

Junior Pt. 2

The last post about Junior was precipitated by his impending IEP meeting. He attended preschool in a private nursery that specializes kids with behavioral/emotional problems last year (after Knox County Child Find told us "there's nothing wrong with him"). This fall, he started kindergarten in the Knox County school system and had eventually be removed to a resource preschool because of his behaviors.

The thing about him is that he's smart as a tack. There's every indication that if he manages to stay out of jail, he'll grow up to be a mad scientist or an evil genius. He exhibits many symptoms of Asperger's Syndrome, but because he's capable of social interaction (when he doesn't flip out and try to kill his playmates), he can't be classified as Asperger's.

The school system wants to keep him in the special education preschool until next year to see if he'll straighten out and be able to enter a mainstream kindergarten class. I'm getting convinced that barring some miracle of modern medicine, he's not likely to get much better. On one hand, he's happy as he can be in the small spec-ed preschool class. On another, academically he's regressing, and the school system agrees that he's performing way below his capabilities. Also, he's only five with a rough couple of years behind him.

So, we're facing a dilemma: Whether to abandon any hope that he can be "fixed" and push the school system to provide him age-appropriate education according to his intellectual capabilities, or to just work on his behaviors with the hope that he can be mainstreamed and catch up academically later on. Or whether to just wait and see. I know my son's rights according to IDEA 2004, but I'm just not sure what's the right thing to do.

And finally, well-deserved hat-tips to Doug, Cathy and Tommy, who have been an inspiration to me in dealing with a disability such as Junior's.

Junior

My son has a very special brain. For instance, when he's cleaning up his room and he decides it's clean. You point to him a toy car that's in the middle of the room. He looks at you like you're crazy. You point the toy again, closer. He looks at where you're pointing, sees nothing. As far as he's concerned, the toy car is invisible. The floor is clean, there's nothing on it. You pick up the car and show it to him. "Where did that come from?" he wonders, eyes wide, "it's magic!"

For any other kid, it would be a ploy, being lazy or being a brat. But his brain, haywired by crack cocaine, barbiturates and alcohol in utero, sees the world differently from the rest of us. Neglect and abuse during the first three years of his life never gave his battered brain a chance to recover. When he came to my life as a foster child, he was feral, surviving on primal instincts in a chaotic, ever-changing environment. He was the cutest little boy you ever saw, and the most unpredictable and violent as well. His aggression had brought about rejection, and rejection begat aggression. In his early childhood he had to fight for his life or perish.

Perhaps it's because he's physically so normal that it's been hard to accept that he is seriously disabled, and will be for the rest of his life. He's been diagnosed as bipolar (manic depressive) -- whether a five-year-old can be diagnosed as anything is up for debate, but I'm grateful for any label that can make sense of his behavior. Some days lights are on in his little head, and he's a smart, witty and somewhat mischevous little boy with a happy grin and a wicked sense of humor. Some days his eyes are black wells of rage, his mind a vortex of racing thoughts that drives his hands and feet like a berserk automaton.

He's going to give me a heart attack one of these days. He's giving me an ulcer and many a sleepless night. It's not once or twice I've questioned the decision to adopt him. Yet, I couldn't love him more if he was my flesh and blood. As I have read so many times recently, too many times, of folks losing their loved ones, I'm grateful for every day with my little hellion. He's a fighter, he didn't give up when all the odds were stacked up against him, and there is no way in this world that I will give up on him, either.

Paging Ralph Nader

In a country where a fast food chain can be sued for serving too hot coffee, it's unfathomable to me that we're being sold goods in packaging that is undeniably dangerous to one's health. I'm referring to those wretched "clamshell" plastic packages most toys and electronic gadgets come in. I can't count the times I've ripped a gash to my finger or palm trying to extricate a doll or toy car from it's vacuum-molded cocoon, and I'm not alone. According to the Consumer Product Safety Commission, injuries from plastic packaging resulted in 6,400 visits to emergency rooms in 2004. Now, I hate ambulance chasers as much as anyone, but since there are better and more consumer-friendly alternatives available, I'd hope some Matlock would jump to the case while I still have all my digits left.

Core Dump

Funny stuff: Mozilla Firefox web browser can break up your relationship.