The Judge Won't See What I Saw and Felt

Okay, I'm interviewing these three potential witnesses. One sister, two brothers--needed to testify on behalf of their mother.

The brothers are these two hard as rock, heavily tattooed, cold staring, mean looking dudes with huge forearms and thick necks. Their tattoos are all death, mayhem and chaos--no nice pretty flowers, poetic calligraphy, or cute animals.

I was thinking, what can these guys say that is going to really speak to the Judge, how's the Judge going to see through the tattoos if they do have something to say?

Then the less tattooed one started talking about his mother--the conviction with which he spoke of all that she had done for him and his unblinking willingness to sacrifice everything for her was so tangible it almost brought tears to my eyes and made me wish I had such an ally like him in my life.

Then, the other, who hardly had a word to say at first, whose tattoos alone seemed to speak volumes about what must have been a hard life, started talking. He spoke just what was needed, no more no less. Then we got to talking about his family and his kids. Instantly, it's like everything good, everything of value, everything of lasting worth came pouring out of his eyes, and he had this huge, toothy, wide smile that was like this window to his heart. You could feel how intensely he loved his kids, you could feel the joy that you knew they brought to him. It was different from anything I'd ever experienced.

But I can't call him as a witness. All the Judge will see are the tattoos, the Judge won't see what I saw and felt. That's the reality of things. But I saw it, and now I know.