DRUG TREATMENT COURT GIVES USERS SECOND CHANCE

A tall man in an orange jumpsuit enters the prisoner's dock. He rocks
back and forth between guilt and remorse and his chains make silver
noises. There are many people, friends and relatives, in court today;
some of the friends are hard and some of the relatives are soft and
all are waiting for a verdict.

An edgy, jumpy woman greets two men, one of whom is in street
clothes; the other is in a sharp suit. She gestures to the man in the
suit, and says to the guy in street clothes, "Who let in Giorgio Armani?"

They grin and the guy in the suit holds up an old arrest photo -
puffy face, wild hair, heavy-lidded eyes; he is worn down, ground
down, beaten down; years of drugs will do that.

But in the flesh he is healthy and clear-eyed and he points to the
picture and he says, "Me at my best and worst." The skinny woman, and
the man in street clothes, laugh; been there, done that, got the picture.

This is drug treatment court.

This is where you go if you are lucky. This is where you may get a
second chance. And if you stay clean, work the programs, do your best
to rebuild your life, and attend court sessions such as this to
observe the torments of other souls in chains, then you may get a
certificate and a suspended sentence.

The man in the suit will get his certificate today.

The judge enters; all rise; the judge sits and all are seated. The
man in chains looks on and hopes he may trade his jumpsuit for
another kind of suit one day.

Everyone in court today knows that it is not hope that earns a change
of dress or address; it is the hardest work.

The judge says to the assembled, "All these pleasant faces, some I've
seen before; let's get the formal things out of the way first."

The man in the suit now comes before the judge. He carries his arrest
photo, and a speech that he has prepared and he sets another photo,
this one framed, on the railing that separates him from justice. I
can't make out the face in the framed picture.

Various people now stand up and tell the judge that the man in the
suit has made his schedules and kept them; has paid his debts; is
working for the first time in years; is taking time to rebuild trust;
has humbled himself.

The man in the suit now holds up his arrest photo and says, "Look at
this picture. It's Jekyll and Hyde." He also says, "I'd like to thank
my dad." I get it now - the man in the photo in the frame is his late father.

"He took my mom and came to look for me downtown." They looked for
him on the city streets many times for many years but there was
nothing they could do. The man in the suit had to do it himself.

His mother sits alone in court. Her happiness is tinged with caution.

The judge says, "Let me take a moment before I sentence you ... I saw
a sincerity about your need to stop using drugs ... you weren't ready
the first time ... be proud, be thankful to your mum ... I am going
to suspend your sentence. You are to report to a probation officer.
You are to continue treatment. I wish you the best. I don't want to
see you any more. I don't expect to see you. I know I won't."

His name is Brian.

You will meet him Wednesday.