the right to be heard

Yesterday, I had my second criminal hearing ever (Yes, Mom, this time I introduced myself as Nicole).  I don't know if calling it a "hearing;" however, is particularly accurate.  I was more "seen and not heard."

I spent hours prepping for all the what-ifs and talking to friends who do this stuff everyday.  I did yoga breathing in the car to make sure I was calm enough to deliver my argument.  My i's were dotted and my t's were crossed.  My client even showed up on time.  The DA was just enough of a jerk to make me feel like a legitimate lawyer, but not such a jerk that I felt like crying in the bathroom.

Our case was called, a hearing to expunge a juvenile record of a good kid who got his life together and now is in college.  Our magistrate was incredibly nice, and the DA didn't object to our petition for expungement.  The judge asked my client what he was doing with his life nowadays.  When he replied that he was attending college, she asked him what he planned to do with his degree.

His response?  "Go to law school probably.  Change the world."

It took everything I had not to snort on the record.