November 12, 2012
Juvenile Justice Process and Corrections
When I first got picked up I was really scared but I knew what I had done was wrong. I had been breaking into houses for a while now. Always in and out real quick and I always picked the houses where I knew the owners were at work because they all lived on the same street as me so I knew their schedules as well as I knew my own. But this time it was different someone decided to come home early and caught me right in the act. I froze I couldn’t move, couldn’t make my legs work. My mind was saying, “Run, run, run” but it’s like my legs were not even a part of my body at the time. So there I was standing in their hallway with a fist full of jewelry that I hadn’t quite gotten into my back pack yet to add with the new game console I found still in its box in the closet. I remember laughing as I took the game and shoved it in my bag thinking wow it’s not even open yet must have been a gift for someone, thinking to myself, “It’s my gift now!”
The owner of the house yelled at me and told me I better not move. Even though I had a concealed weapon in my back pack I didn’t reach for it. Frozen in fear I did just that and I didn’t move an inch until the police arrived. Just like I had seen on so many shows the police showed up and handcuffed me like a common criminal, read me my Mirada Rights, and literally threw me in the back seat of the police squad. So there I sat in the back of the squad car just a couple of days after my seventeenth birthday knowing what was going to happen next as I had been down this road before. My mind raced as we drove to the police station in what seemed to be the longest ride I had ever taken in my life even thought the police station was only 3 miles away from my home.
It was a warm sunny day here in Southern California and I could think of a hundred other places I would...