My Day in Court

     At my county courthouse, not even Thomas Jefferson could keep me from the bright light of justice. I was among the potential jurors, and frankly, none of us wanted to be there. We’d had to shift work responsibilities, find child care, bend schedules.     
     But there we were, ages twenty-one to seventy. Among us a bar tender, a nurse, a student, a home renovator, a tutor, a writer, a man with a runny nose, and a woman with a cleavage deeper than the Grand Canyon. Nothing would normally bring us together, except we were all randomly selected from the same judicial district in Jefferson County.     
     Yet in our hands lay the fate of a man across the room, his eyes cast down. Was he innocent? Guilty? Whatever we decided would change his life forever. That’s what made me realize that we, the people - ordinary folks in jeans and tie dye - wielded more power than the Robe behind the bench and the Suits behind their desks.
    Sometimes we simple folk think we lack power. That we don’t have a voice. But in a courtroom, we wield the authority to deliver justice for all.     
​     The verdict wasn’t in yet for the defendant, but one thing was clear: I had an awesome responsibility, one that made me proud to be there.