Yesterday I, unfortunately had to go to traffic court. That's right, the beautiful, wonderful, and perfect Julie, was not so perfect last week and was nabbed for speeding. Being the sensitive soul that I am, being pulled over for not paying attention to how fast I was going was absolutely devastating for me, and the poor officer had to pause several times in his explanation of what papers he needed from me, and where I needed to appear (there are no mail in tickets in our town, you must appear in court, yikes even more scary) because I was sobbing so hard that he knew I could not hear him. I tend to take my mistakes very hard, and this was my first ticket as an adult; all I could see was my shining driving record being flushed down the tubes and it just sent me into quite the crying spell, I must have looked utterly ridiculous, judging by the faces of the those passing by with a 'get a grip it's just a ticket' look glued to their faces.

I went to the wrong courthouse at first, actually I went to THE courthouse in town, only to be told that traffic court is held at City Hall, two and a half blocks down, so I hoofed it down to CIty Hall, and took my place standing in the crowded hallway outside of the courtroom waiting for our group to be called in. I was shocked to see just how crowded traffic court was, as well as to see that I was the only person, that's right one out of about sixty, who had dressed nicely for the occasion and did not just show up in jeans, shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops. Turns out that would be because I was the only first time offender there, and everyone else was rather, jaded shall we say, towards the system and saw no need to show respect for the court by dressing nicely. I stood there listening to everyone swap their stories, and when a young woman, not even old enough to drink yet walked in, eyeballed the large amount of people in the hallways and rolled her eyes saying "oh geeze I hope they aren't late this time...again," I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Again, what does she mean again? How many times had she been here I wondered?

We ended up sitting next to each other in the courtroom and she immediately began opening up to me. I had overheard her speaking to someone else in the hallway, and already knew that she was in court for a shoplifting charge, well several shoplifting charges actually, and failure to pay her fines from her previous charges, as well as a trespassing charge. Laughing it off as absolutely no big deal she told me it must be in her genes, as her father was always in and out of jail throughout her life, and courtrooms were nothing strange or new to her at all, in fact she knew the judge sitting behind the desk quite well and summed him up as being something that rhymes with 'crass.' She then told me that she had grown up as a foster child, and instantly, being one who is interested in adoption, about a million questions popped into my head. There was so much that I wanted to ask her, yet I wanted to respect her privacy. I often hate it when I disclose the fact that I adopted my oldest son only to be met with a thousand and one either irrelevant or invading questions. So instead I simply asked her if she had grown up in the area.

'Not really' was her initial answer, as she then proceeded to list off about fifteen to twenty different counties in roughly three different states. She would have had to have moved almost constantly given her age, in order to live in so many different places in her young life. I so wanted to know if she had been adopted, but I didn't want to pry into her life. Most likely she would have told me without a problem, as she was extremely free with information about her life story, yet I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable, and the opportunity quickly faded as she spotted her former foster sister on the other side of the courtroom and she became quite focused on what her sister could have been 'in' for. Once her foster sister spotted her sitting next to me, she went to the bailiff and must have asked to have her case heard with the second group of people who were still waiting out in the hallway, so that her sister could not hear what her case was about, he let her out of the room, the girl next to me gave a 'figures' grunt out of disappointment in not getting the dirt on her foster sister, and just like that, it was time for the cases to begin being called.

Just before it was time for me to go up, I whispered good luck to her, and told her it would be a good idea if she stopped messing with other people's stuff. She smiled at me and said "yeah, I know...I am working on it." The judge gave me the option of paying a fine, and not having any points on my license, which I happily agreed to, and left the room. I waited around in the front for a bit, even after I had given my check to the lady at the front desk, to see if the young girl would come out, I was curious to see if the judge she has known now for years would again go fairly easy on her, despite her opinion of him and her ongoing mishaps with the law. After a few minutes I assumed that her case was much longer due to so many charges, so I went on my merry way, happy to be out of court and ready to get home to my family, and away from the population of people in that hallway that saw nothing wrong with their behaviors of public intoxication, domestic violence, theft, vandalism, reckless driving, and so forth, totally and completely seeing court as 'the man' getting/keeping all of them 'down.'

I felt bad for the poor girl who had grown up with such a chaotic life, and saw going against society as the only way she could truly fit into it. I had so many questions for her, and so much I wanted to share with her about how she could easily turn her life around. Normally I am the one to strike curiosity into the minds of others, and it really gave me a look into how others must feel when the find out a snippet of my life and situation and want to know more. Today I am regretting not asking the questions that I had, or perhaps waiting in the hallway instead of the lobby to see if she went out the backdoor instead of the front, which in hindsight is most likely what happened since that would be the door that she came in from.

No wonder so many people ask so many questions about our situation! You can either ask them, or have them burn in your head unanswered for gosh knows how long until they eventually fade, pushed down into the depths of your mind. Yet I feel comfortable with my assessment that had she wished to share information about having a family and being adopted she would have, just as she shared the fact that she was a foster child with me. I've been given an entirely new perspective on the nosey questions that people ask about adoption, and although I don't know her name, I would love to say thank you to the young woman who showed me what it was like to be the one with the curious adoption related questions when meeting a stranger for the first time, and no more stealing missy, you are worth so much more than stolen goods.