The History of Justice

Justice isn't just a clever term that lawyers like to bandy about, and sculpters like to craft handling a sword, a set of scales and being blind-folded. In general, a woman trying to measure things and swinging a sword with a scarf around her eyes seems like a bad idea to me. Maybe there's some kind of symbolism that I'm missing. I doubt it.

But the point is, that Lillian (my wife, who I might call Lil, Beautiful, or The-Ultimate-Woman) and I have our own Justice.

Justice Nicole Diggs.

Born September 16, 1996, this little 9 year-old girl is really something. She's half Black and half Caucasion, which resulted in a lovely skin tone and curly hair that most women would kill for.

Lil and I have known Justice now for nearly two years. Lil worked with Justice's granny, Rosaleen, in the biochemistry labs of UCR. Rosaleen had taken in Justice and her three half-brothers (Chris - 4, Jeff - 3, Nathan - 2). Begining in December of 2004, we started taking Justice to church with us. About six months later, it was clear that Justice would need a more permanant place. Rosaleen just couldn't handle a 9 year-old and three little boys at the same time. The needs were different, and Justice required more direct attention than Rosaleen could provide. Two completely inexperienced and overly selfish people seemed to fit the the right bill.

Ok, fine. I'm not selfish at all. But that Lillian . . .

At this point, Lil and I began to attempt to take Foster Parent classes from Riverside County, and to get "Lifescanned". Apparently, it's easier to become the head the of the CIA than it is to become a foster parent. We attended the intial, and mandatory, orientation class, which boiled down to: here are your eighteen thousand forms, please fill them out; oh, and don't torture the children, thanks!

Then we waited.

And waited . . . and waited.

It felt like we would never get out of Casablanca.

In the interim, Rosaleen tore through two new social workers. The children had various court hearings, and so forth. Finally, Rosaleen got a new Social Worker who had apparently been in the system for some time, and legitimately cared about the welfare of the children and making everying run smoothly. She determined that Lil and I were actually friends' of the family, which allowed us to take in Justice without going through the 16 weeks of foster parent classes that are normally required.

By this point, Lil and I had sold our condo and had purchased our 1922 clapboard house. It had a front and backyard, cost more than the national debt, and had interesting little problems that made living there an adventure all its own. Like the airconditioner popping the breaker whenever you run it and the microwave at the same time.

This means you can't have hot chocolate in July.

Or you can, but it becomes really, really silly without the A/C.

But I digress.

Justice moved in with us at the end of August of 2005. It was an immediately and unprecedented adjustment period that, according the experts, will end when Justice turns 18 and goes to college. At that point, we'll all be so used to living under the same roof that seperation anxiety will occur, insuring that psychologist everywhere can worry less about their trips to Barbados and Cancun.

A national concern we feel strongly about solving.

And thus begins the history of the us. This is the way we were, the way we lived, and the roles we took to try to make one little girl's life that much better . . . even if it drove us to drinking, insanity and voting Republican.