FUN LOVIN' CRIMINALS

As Farrah Fawcett escorts her dope-smoking son Redmond to court in
California, Fern Lloyd offers her sympathies. She has just been dragged
into a world of lawyers and social workers by her graffiti-spraying teenager

I've never had big hair, or even been blonde. And I've never tried
karate-kicking in flares, let alone brandishing a pistol while wearing a
bikini. But I know exactly how Farrah Fawcett feels when she accompanies
her 16-year-old son Redmond to court in Santa Monica, California, where he
has to sign in every week following a conviction for using cannabis. I know
because my son, too, has recently been in trouble with the law.

Here's the scenario: it is a Saturday morning, at 6am. The doorbell rings,
followed by loud knocking. Denial turns into acceptance - I realise, with a
sinking heart, that it's not the postman. I stumble downstairs and yes,
it's the police. Our 17-year-old son Joe has been arrested, for the second
time, for graffiti - criminal damage in the eyes of the law. He's still in
the cell, they're just checking out his bail address.

We veer between fury at him and desperate worry over what's going to happen
next. Now that the old system of cautioning juveniles has been phased out
because of its lack of deterrent effect - kids used to get six, seven or
even more cautions, often for the same offence - ending up in court and
getting a criminal record, even a custodial sentence, is frighteningly
easy. These days, you get a reprimand for a first offence and a final
warning, if you're lucky, for a second or more serious one. After that,
it's see you in court, sonny Jim. And magistrates can no longer give
conditional discharges. The government's plans to build at least five new
young offenders' units suddenly seem horribly relevant.

At about 8am, my husband, Don, rings the police station. Joe hasn't even
been interviewed yet. He's been there since 1am, having been caught in the
act of spray-painting some shop hoardings, but was too drunk to give a
statement. Because he's 17, they treat him as an adult - parents don't have
to be present. He's also been charged with possession of a small quantity
of cannabis. At least it wasn't the much more heinous "with intent to
supply", I say, adopting my "always look on the bright side of life" pose
in opposition to Don's despair mode. These crises always result in us
taking out our rage and sadness on each other.

A few hours later, statement made, we learn from the sergeant, who is very
polite and helpful, that Joe has been released on bail, to return three
days later to learn his fate. In the meantime, the police will talk to the
shopkeepers. We express our willingness to repair or pay for the damage.
Surely that would be the most useful option, and might teach Joe a lesson.
Though you'd think a night in the cells might have done that, too.

But when Joe comes home he's in an angry mood: police are idiots and he's a
sort of hero/victim because he was the only one that got caught or
searched. He didn't grass on his mates, though they were all spraying too.
As for the cannabis, it was such a small amount he doesn't consider it
worth discussing.

As he cooks himself a fry-up, he explains, after reasonably gentle
cross-questioning from me, that boozing followed by graffiti is done in
response to boredom. I try to refrain from telling him that he doesn't know
what boredom means. Loads of friends, TV, PlayStation, clubbing, music,
exciting Saturday job - at his age I would have killed for a life like
that. Instead I concentrate on practicalities - how a criminal record would
affect his future. Travel plans and job applications, for example.

I don't know if any of it sinks in. He retires to bed; we go for a long
walk and agree that grounding him wouldn't work. We don't know what will.
Of course, these aren't terrible crimes, but his attitude is so negative.
Is it all our fault for being too laid-back? Not laid-back enough? Who
knows where, or if, we went wrong.

A few days later, we're at the police station bright and early, prepared
for the worst. The day before, I tried to extract information from a PC who
told me a charge was more or less inevitable because Joe had been done
before for the same offence. And this time, there's the drug possession as
well.

A solicitor meets us there, and we're relieved we decided, after a lot of
agonising about whether it might count against us in some way, to make use
of this free service. She takes Joe round a corner and coaches him on how
to comport himself to best advantage. I catch the words "appear fully
remorseful". She and the desk sergeant remark at the amazing sight of one,
let alone two parents.

"Most parents just don't want to know," says the solicitor.

Incredibly, after an interview with the inspector - what a lovely man - Joe
gets a final warning with compulsory attendance at a youth offending team.
They seem to have overlooked the cannabis possession. We try to contain our
joy until we're out of the door. Joe goes to school, Don and I go for a
coffee. "Do you think he understands how lucky he's been?" asks Don. I
think the solicitor may have helped him take in that this really is his
last chance. Next time - oh God, please let there not be one - without a
doubt, he'd go to court.

But it's not over yet. A week later, after school, Joe and I are with the
youth offending team.

"So you're an artist?" says Chris, the youth worker, affably. "Do you just
tag or do you spray as well?" Obviously, he understands and is part of this
world that Joe desires. If he'll listen to anyone, it's this guy. They talk
about the recent tragedy in Camden, when a 16-year old stabbed an 18-year
old to death over a dispute about lining out tags (crossing out graffiti
signatures that mark territory).

Chris asks if Joe offered to clean his own art work off and tuts in
disappointment when he hears that no one followed this up. He feels that,
if only "artists" like Joe were given the chance to make amends, graffiti
need not reach the criminal justice system. But he's realistic. "If you go
on doing it, you will end up with a sentence," he says. He also mentions
Jack Straw's enthusiam for locking up young offenders.

As for the cannabis, he reminds Joe that tobacco in joints damages your
lungs more than cigarettes, because of the lack of filters.

"Now I'm not going to tell you to eat it," he elaborates, "because the
trouble with that is you've no way of controlling how mashed you're going
to get, as you can with a joint. Most people, like myself, have enough of
it after a while and grow out of it."

He treats Joe with respect, as an equal, a man of the streets. "You seem
very together," he tells him. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry. "You
obviously know what you're doing."

And although he doesn't feel the final warning programme on offer at the
unit would be suitable for Joe - he'd be older than the other kids and it
would bore him - he's very welcome to drop in at any time, or to paint the
outside of the unit with some of his friends. I wonder if he will. Maybe
this scheme is one part of the government's crackdown on crime that really
might work.

I make a note of Chris's direct line, and feel a glimmer of hope. I wonder
if Farrah has that.

* Some names have been changed.