Judge Not. No, I Mean It.

Don’t be looking for any ho, ho, ho posts from my little corner of the world this week. This is gonna be another one of those unfunny long-ass posts, and for that I apologize, but if I don’t get this out of my system…You have been officially warned.

The holiday-happy-air got sucked out of my sails on Tuesday evening this week.

After having received some pretty not-cool news from the Hubs’ doctor on Monday, I didn’t sleep well that night; I think it was close to 0200 when I last saw the numbers on the clock. At 0415 Tuesday morning one of my employees called to let me know she couldn’t come to work later that morning. This wasn’t a huge deal, except that 4 of my 6 dogs sleep in crates in the other room and they heard Mom’s voice, and went nuts. Needless to say, going back to sleep never happened for me. I rolled into work early, at seven o’clock Tuesday morning, decked out in scrubs because we were due new computers and every time we’ve gone through this, some of us ended up UNDER a desk for connectivity reasons.

I ended up working somewhere near ten hours that day, and when I got home, I was absolutely fragged. I curled up with the tablet and finished the book I was reading, had a light supper, and the hubs, being the guy he is, insisted I needed a hot bubble bath. Who was *I* to argue, right? Glass of Chablis and a bubble bath. The sure-fire recipe for an early departure to dreamland, right?

Not so much.

OMG. Please wake my ass up! Anyone? Anyone?

OMG. Please wake my ass up! Anyone? Anyone?

The phone rang as we were getting out of the tub, and didn’t get to it in time. So we played the message back. It was a recording from “PayTel Comm” according to the caller ID. Sounded like someone was trying to make a collect call, but I couldn’t be sure. So y’all know me. I Googled that shit. Turns out PayTel is an “inmate phone service” and at that very moment I KNEW.

I called a friend of mine who has a relative in the “system” here in NC and asked how the caller ID read when said family member would contact them. She couldn’t remember, but when I said, “Pay Tel?” she told me immediately that was it.

“Do you think it’s your son?” she asked me. Sighing, I said yes. She told me who to contact at the county detention center to see if he was in there.

I did.

I spoke to a really sweet woman on the other end of the phone in the “booking” department. Told her I had reason to believe my son was there, and could she clear this up for me? She said she couldn’t let me speak to him, and I told her that if he was there, I probably didn’t want to speak to him, anyway.

Sadly, he IS there, and his bond is ungodly. I thanked her, hung up and burst into tears. The first phone call I made was to my mommy. (I don’t care HOW OLD you think you are, when all hell breaks loose, if you have a mommy to call? You call.)

My youngest son lives at home (he’s a senior in high school) and he was a toss up between devastated and pissed. “Mom,” he started, “we have the same last name and it’s online and people will KNOW.” I told him that he is not his brother, nor is he responsible for his brother’s actions.

That said, it was a rough night. I cried until about three in the morning. Only two people at work knew, initially; the one I called about Pay Tel, and my boss. I thought I might have a hard time getting up with the alarm. I didn’t want to really advertise, but word gets out. Our community is a small community. Our town is small. I got up sometime after midnight and emailed one of my besties before the tears set in.

I’m not sure what time I fell asleep, but between that night and the one before? I’d had about five hours of sleep combined.

I called the jail yesterday to find out about visiting times, and while I GET that these “public servants” (my ass), are probably used to dealing with a lot of people that are habitually of the criminal element, I’m a felony virgin. The b*tch on the other end of the phone was a hateful thing, HUFFED at me more than once, did NOT like the fact that I was asking questions, and had me on speaker phone, which, in turn, made her sound like she was talking to me from the bottom of a very loud well, and it pissed her off that I had to repeatedly say, “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you. Could you repeat that?” Translation: Look, lady (and I use that word loosely), I have never been or had anyone in your system, and I get that you are used to repeat offenders and their pimps/dealers/whatever calling you, but do you think I would be asking you all these questions if I were familiar with the system?

Don’t treat me like the criminal. I’m just trying to find out what the hell went down, because I hadn’t talked to my kid. STILL haven’t talked to my kid.

Today, I had someone come to me with a Facebook post from the sheriff. My son’s mugshot (and he looks a whole hell of a lot worse in orange than I would have) is right on up there, along with the details of the crime and the arrest.  I won’t post that information here, but if you are web savvy and know enough about me and where I live, I’m sure you can find it on your own. What reduced me to tears, yet again, were the comments on said post.

Before I give these humanity critics their due, I am going to finish what I have to say:

Well, guess what, you perfect, never-made-a-mistake, never had a kid-that-made-a-mistake, holier-than-thou assholes…I understand your hatred for the criminal. You know what? I get that. Do you think that I want the stuff that *I* work so hard for to be taken from me? No. Do I want those responsible punished? Oh, you betcha. Do I want their family, friends, and loved ones punished? Um, NO, THANK YOU!

But do you think, for a minute, that the accused is going to see your petty, nasty, shitty, judgmental little comments?

Um, NO!!!

But do you know who WILL and DID? His/Her father, mother, younger brother, grandmother x2, grandfather x2, and a whole slough of family members, loved ones and friends.  But you don’t care. You just want to show the world how Godly and upright you are. Bless you, too.

Do I think thieves and criminals should be let off the hook? Not only no, but HELL, no.

Do I think that windbags full of hot holier-than-thou air need to consider their audiences before being hateful? Uh, yes, thank you.

And to those of you, who OBVIOUSLY do NOT live in glass houses, let me ask you this: Do you even REMEMBER what country you live in? Let me give you a little clue: INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY!

So thanks, assholes. Really. Thanks for rubbing salt into an already raw wound. It must be really freaking wonderful to be you, with your perfect families, and those perfect kids and grand kids that can do no wrong.

Oh, and thanks, too, for presuming this kid is guilty before he even goes to trial. I’m not saying he is innocent, but until that jury finds him guilty? Shut the hell up, already. You people don’t think things are hard enough for this family without your judgement, your snotty remarks?

I have raised three boys. All of whom have been straight A students. NONE of them have ever been in trouble with thew law. Until now.

His father and I are having a horrible time getting our minds around the fact that a kid we raised better than this could do something this freaking stupid.

Small town, small community. Must be the parents’ fault. They didn’t supervise. They didn’t discipline.

You know what? Screw you. You don’t know how we raised these boys.

We believed in “spare the rod, spoil the child.” We had a “board of education;” a paddle that the three of these kids knew well. When they did wrong and were to big to spank? Grounded. And when over 18 and out of the house and jailed? Bail him out? No, thank you. (And this last part? This was just figured out within the last 48 hours, thanks.)

I am going to put my trust in the justice system. This kid has no priors. NOTHING. Yeah, he was involved. Of this I am quite sure. Did he do more than hold the goods? I don’t know. Kids derail. It happens, sometimes. You can’t always blame the parents.

Sometimes they move out and get involved with the wrong people.

Sometimes they move out and get hooked on drugs.

Once they are adults, they move out of the house, and nothing the parents do or say can make a difference.

What I am saying is this: While my kid is no angel, before you publicly throw him to the wolves on the LEO’s Facebook page? Think before you post. The only ones you are hurting are the family and friends of the accused, and they didn’t do anything to deserve this.

You can only throw your damned stones when you DON’T live in a glass house. You can’t judge, lest YE be judged. Or didn’t  you bother to pay attention to that part of Matthew in your Bibles?

Merry Christmas to all of you and I hope, for your sake, you don’t ever have to deal with any of this.

Without further ado, here are my county’s judge and jury:

  •  Great job another one off the street.
  • LETS KEEP THEM ALL OF THE STREETS 
    (and you get the spelling & punctuation award, congratulations, Mr. Perfect.)
  •  I LOVE THAT YOU’RE POSTING THEIR PHOTOS!! Not only does it alert people who know folks by their face, but it also deters potential criminals from breaking the law in fear of embarrassment!!! GREAT JOB AT TAKING OUT THE TRASH!
  •  Amen to the above.
  •  If I could catch him breaking in mine, he’d have a picture, but it wouldn’t be one posted here. Good work WCSD…
  • Great job!
  • He’s in a better place….R.I.P. (Sarcasm)
    (Do NOT let me run into you at the local Food Lion, because I saw your picture and I have some words for you, Sir. I won’t forget this one.)
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About Julie the Workaholic

Mom of three (grown) sons and one (grown) step-daughter, wife of one, friend of many, and owned by seven 4-legged critters, writer, photographer, friend, huge fan of life, and most of all, lover of all things beautiful .….Getting healthy, and hoping to make a dent in the world in a most positive way! (And then there's my alter-ego, the Workaholic, who is me, just unfiltered.)
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9 Responses to Judge Not. No, I Mean It.

  1. Pingback: Small Towns – Violence Lives Here, Too… | Random Musings From a Type-A Workaholic

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  4. People suck. Judgmental Christian types suck the big one.

  5. Rea says:

    I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. People are awful, but they will get theirs.
    I hope this turns out to be a wake up call to your son and you’re never in this situation again.

  6. Susan D. says:

    So sorry. This sucks on so many levels and you voiced my reaction in your blog of “innocent until proven guilty.” Honestly, I would think it would be against all kinds of LEO policies/rules/guidelines, etc. to post ANYTHING before someone goes to trial. Unless it was something like showing us a picture of a loose and dangerous SUSPECT. I mean, news reporters are so careful to use the words “alleged” and “suspect.” It’s crazy to me that LEO even COULD post this on Facebook.

    On the other hand, his lawyer might be able to toss out all kinds of prospective jurors JUST by asking if they do Facebook. Wouldn’t that be cute? To have to go through a ton of potential jurors just to find enough that DON’T read Facebook to fill a jury? If there doesn’t already exist a policy against the LEO doing this sort of thing, THAT might cause one to be implemented. Hmmm.

    Hopefully whatever else happens this will make your son re-think who his friends should be and help him to make a rapid life-turn-around and this will be the last time you ever have to get that call.

    And remember, the people who know and love you WON’T attribute this to bad parenting. We know better.

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