I interviewed three potential witnesses (one sister and two brothers) to testify on behalf of their mother.
The brothers were two, hard-as-rock, heavily tattooed, cold-staring, mean-looking dudes with huge forearms and thick necks. Their tattoos were all related to death, mayhem, and chaos – no nice pretty flowers, poetic calligraphy, or cute animals.
I thought, “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?”
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 spoke a word 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. We also talked about his family and his kids. Instantly, it seemed 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 appeared like a 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.
Sadly, 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.
Loren M. Lambert © April 25, 2012
The brothers were two, hard-as-rock, heavily tattooed, cold-staring, mean-looking dudes with huge forearms and thick necks. Their tattoos were all related to death, mayhem, and chaos – no nice pretty flowers, poetic calligraphy, or cute animals.
I thought, “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?”
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 spoke a word 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. We also talked about his family and his kids. Instantly, it seemed 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 appeared like a 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.
Sadly, 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.
Loren M. Lambert © April 25, 2012
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