The Trial - A Junior High Tragedy

In a class today, my professor was telling an anecdote about a time he was almost "laughed off stage" for using a cubic term in his regression model of (boring and irrelevant details removed). He specifically cited that it had damaged him because he was young, and hadn't developed a tough skin yet. He was still carrying around the scars of that single event.

My professor specifically cited being young as the reason he wasn't able to cope with what was probably an intense and embarrassing event. Was it traumatic? I mean it wasn't Darfur. But since he was young - unaccustomed to the rough edges of adult life - his inability to cope with the event made it traumatic to him.

His confession made him seem more human and endearing - he is otherwise quite intimidating. It reminded me of a "confessional" blog post that I had promised I'd write about an embarrassing situation of my own. So here it is...

One of the coolest things in Junior High was getting out of class. It broke up the monotony, and set you apart from the rest of the herd. YOU were special, and YOU were going to leave class right now, because YOU had more important things to do than read "The Outsiders."

I was picked to act a part in a mock-trial for History class, and eagerly jumped at the chance to be out of class for nearly half a day. I excitedly read over my role in the trial. I was a witness to the murder of some lady down by the town dam...ok, I wasn't a witness, but I was certain I saw the killer running through the park right after I heard a scream. That was all there was.

There weren't any lines, so I kind of brushed up on what he might say and tried to get some clues from my teacher. She wasn't clear, but said the attorney (an 8th grader) and I were going to get into a shouting match at some point, and I was going to run out of the courtroom. What? I thought I was just some witness. Before I could clarify my role, it was time to act. I was certainly not in my element, so the teacher offered to help me if I looked over at her.

"Action"
I get "called in" to the courtroom (ie the classroom), I am read my rights, and I sit down in front of a bunch of my schoolmates. Wow...I did not think this through.

As an aside, I might mention a couple of points that I think everyone understands at heart: Jr. high is not a kind and gentle place. Further, the single goal of Jr. Highers is to impress their peers. On the other hand, the single greatest fear of Jr. Highers is public embarrassment - it could mean excommunication.

Despite my fear, I resolve to finish what I started. I tell my piece to the prosecutor, we chat for a while. No further questions. Then the defense attorney comes up. This is where it gets a little hazy, but yet very vivid. He asks a couple of questions. I look over to the teacher. She nods yes, I assent. She nods no, I dissent.

"Well now" says the defense attorney "your testimony doesn't match what (other witness) said."

Huh? This isn't what we agreed on. Oh, crap. Things start to heat up a little bit. The questions start getting more pointed, and the attorney is starting to kind of yell. I look over to the teacher, hoping to get some help out of this worsening situation. I get nothing but nods.

I am being berated by this guy...and - it turns out - I am being accused of being the killer! From what I can put together, the evidence is pretty good too. At this point, I desperately want to break character and explain to everyone in the class that this is not what I agreed to. I was just supposed to be a witness. In fact, I didn't even know this poor lady who died by the dam. In fact, what was she doing hanging out by a dam in the middle of the morning? Hey Brett (attorney), how 'bout you calm down. Nobody actually yells in a courtroom.

But I didn't break character, and the situation became real. I was cornered and scared. I can't remember how it ended, but eventually I played my role by fleeing (thankfully) the courtroom.

In reality, it probably all happened so fast nobody really noticed. But my psyche was shot. I was supposed to perform another "show" for the next class period, but I just couldn't find it within myself. I told the teacher I was out. She would have to find someone else.

Why did this shake me so much? Why do I still think of it every once in a while? Clearly, I was not meant for the stage. But I think that my professor had a decent answer too. I was young. I didn't have a thick skin. It was my very innocence that made me so vulnerable to harm.

I like writing the occasional confessional blog post. I get to exorcise my demons by blogging about them, and hoping that others share my experience. I think it also gives a glimpse of my humanity, and if you're anything like me you eat that stuff up.