"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

So said a judge to me regarding my 15 year old daughter Sierra, who, by the way, walked into a courtroom with her hands behind her back, as defiant as I've ever seen her. 

My husband and I looked at each other and we just could not believe this was the girl we raised and I gave birth to.  The only comfort was her hair was back to her natural color, which is the same as mine. 
This took place at a private hearing at a courthouse in City Hall in downtown Hidden Springs.  The hearing was about Sierra's behavior and was to determine her placement.

 

When the judge immediately remanded her to Fort Starch Military Academy, I rose up to speak.  "Listen, I don't understand, can't she have some other placement?  My older son was placed there and he's still under a psychiatrist's care for post-traumatic stress disorder.  He's too young for PTSD!  I don't want that happening to my daughter!"

"I'm aware of your son's diagnosis, Mrs. Cheesman," replied the judge. "We've had quite a few kids who had PTSD upon leaving Fort Starch."

"Can't you put kids who act up somewhere else?"

"It's pretty much our standard punishment.  When kids get out of control, we send them to rigorous boot-camp style training at Fort Starch and it works in straightening them out most of the time.  Unfortunately, Mrs. Cheesman, the fact that you're in this same situation with another child reflects poorly on you."

"Are you calling me a bad mother?"

 

   

"Calm down, Savannah," my husband whispered, putting his strong, loving arm around me.  But I was seething. 
I wanted to reach over and clobber that judge.
Maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.   I'm not the best parent in the world -- hell, I'm not even the best parent in my own house -- and I acknowledge that I've made mistakes, but I'm not the demon that judge has made me out to be.