Thursday, July 29, 2010

Abe Lincoln

I remember being brought into the judges chambers and noting that he was a kind, middle-aged man.  I looked around his office at his wood furniture and his large desk, and what seemed like serious surroundings.

I asked the judge if the painting on the wall was of him.  I was later told that it was a painting of Abe Lincoln, and that the judge found this flattering.  

After the attorneys made their cases for who I should go live with, the judge wanted to hear what I had to say about it all.  He brought to his chambers privately to talk with me.  He was clever in asking about my life with Nancy Davenport, and my life with Marcia and Bill; what I would do at their houses, what I would talk about with them, the friends I had.  This way, I would not feel I was betraying any of the people who had cared for me during the transitional interim, yet he could extrapolate from my dialogue the quality of my surroundings in each situation.

All in all, I don't think I said very much, and I am not sure that my limited conversation with him, quiet as I was, had any great impact on his final decision, but I think I said enough.

In answering the judge's questions, I was much more excited about my time with the Herrmans than with Nancy.  Within minutes after this visit in the judges chambers, the judge made his ruling; I would become Marcia and Bill’s son.