Justice Tempered With Star Trek

The Uncommon Wife is an uncommonly big fan of almost everything Star Trek, which is how The Common Man got roped into watching four episodes of The Next Generation last night. Much of the time, The Common Man tunes out, but last night The Common Man got some wisdom from one Jean-Luc Picard (who The Uncommon Wife often refers to as "a total panty-dropper;" seriously, sometimes all The Common Man has to say is "engage" and he's, well, engaged).

Picard and his Enterprise buddies find themselves orbiting a Eden-esque planet where all the people wear flimsy, satiny outfits that cover only their naughty bits (there's an uncomfortable amount of guy-nipple in this episode) and make love "at the drop of a hat...any hat." They play all day and freaking do it all night, basically. Nice life. Anyway, there is a downside to this existence (didn't you just know there would be?), and that's that the penalty for any infraction is death. Texans would love this place. Anyway, Wesley (perhaps the most annoying character in Star Trek history, with his whining and penchant for trouble) violates the law and is all set to be executed when Picard saves him with a soliloquy:

Picard: "The question of justice has concerned me greatly of late, and I say to any creature who may be listening, there can no justice so long as laws are absolute. Even life itself is an exercise in exceptions."

Riker: "When has justice ever been as simple as a rulebook?"

First of all, shut up Riker. Trying to upstage your captain. Not cool, dude. Grow a beard or something. Second, Picard's speech came to mind again today, when The Common Man heard about young Marie Morrow, a member of the Douglas County Young Marines, who has been suspended from school and faces possible expulsion because some idiot in her school's parking lot can't tell the difference between this:


a drill team rifle that is "made of wood, with duct tape, to resemble a real rifle," and this:

you know, a real rifle.

It's not really the school's fault. State law mandates that "a firearm, whether loaded or unloaded, or a firearm facsimile that could reasonably be mistaken for an actual firearm" mandates the suspension and possible expulsion. It's a tough policy, but one that makes sense in the wake of the Columbine tragedy. What's missing from the law, as Morrow points out, is the opportunity to allow trained educators who work with kids every day to use their own discretion in determining which threats constitute real threats to the school (for instance, if Morrow wasn't on her local drill team and had fake rifles in the back seat of her car) and what does not.

What makes this worse, in The Common Man's opinion, is how measured and responsible Morrow's being about the whole thing. She tells reporters, "I take responsibility, it was my mistake," and "I understand exactly why the policy is there," and only wants to "go back to school and graduate with my class and take my AP tests and all that." She's clearly not the student this policy was intended to catch and handle. And she's in it now.

There may not be anything that can be done for Marie, under current laws and regulations. And this should not become an excuse for gun nuts to lobby for loosening the restrictions on guns and schools around the country. But it should be an opportunity to add some common sense to the lawbook, to remember that there can be no justice in absolutes, and to help the next Marie Morrow who comes along.

Big Fish

The Common Man is blogging in the land from which he hails this weekend. He, The Uncommon Wife, and The Boy drove out last night to help celebrate a slew of birthdays, including his father's (61), brother's (26), grandmother's (91 years young!) and mother's (the big six-oh). Also, his parents' anniversary was the 15th. The Common Man was fortunate growing up, in that he never had to share his birthday (July 20, for those who want to get him a card or a million dollars) with anyone else in the family. Meanwhile, something like 47 different significant events were celebrated together, stuffed into one short evening. Meanwhile, The Common Man got the whole month of July to himself, meaning he got to choose the cake, the meal, the theme for the party (usually something baseball related). It was a good life.

Anyway, while The Common Man went out to run some errands this morning, he stopped by his old high school and walked around a while. It has been largely revamped, adding a concert auditorium, a courtyardish area, and a mess of new classrooms. Much of the building was entirely unrecognizable.


But that didn't stop The Common Man from finding the band room where he spent many a morning playing his trumpet. Or the stairs he bounded down with the energy of a far younger man. Or the halls where he would wave at friends and weave through crowds. He even could tell where his old calc teacher's new room was by the familiar decorations on the wall and the massive pyramid made of straws and string hanging upside-down from the ceiling.

But here's what The Common Man wasn't expecting. Everything seemed so small. The ceilings seemed lower. The drinking fountains shorter. The stairs narrower. The lockers tinier (how did anyone ever get shoved in there?). It's not like The Common Man has gotten appreciatively bigger (vertically at least) since his high school days, either. He was five-foot-seven then, and he's five-foot-seven now. But somehow, those empty hallways seemed so much littler than they did twelve years ago, filled with shoving, running, shuffling, gregarious, teenagers. Then it seemed huge. That those walls could hold such a busy and bustling throng of humanity and hormones.

Is this what happens when people get older? The things that impressed them so as doe-eyed 16-year-olds just don't have the same juice? That the world will seem ever smaller and more vulnerable? Has The Common Man expanded his perception so much (and will his perception keep expanding so much) that all will seem small in comparison? And is this the natural order or is it simply because The Common Man is so in touch with his inner awesome?

Other random observations:
1) The Common Man was sure a skinny little bastard in high school, and if you look at the right tennis trophy, you can see that.
2) Swimmers are idiots. Who puts a tuxedo shirt on in the pool for a team picture? What kind of idiot poses for a photo in his speedo, on a snowbank in January?
3) You can always tell where the language teachers are, particularly Spanish, as their doors are garishly decorated with maracas and sombreros.
4) The panopticon is alive and well, as there is a camera hanging from the ceiling in the courtyard to spot trouble.
5) How into high school football do you have to be to sit in the stands and watch a team practice without pads in August? Unhealthily so? Do you have to be a former H.S. football star who blew out his knee in the big game and didn't get that scholarship to Football University, or can anyone qualify?
6) Before your freshman year, did your mom take you around the school with a list of your classes to find out where everything was? The Common Man saw two particularly exasperated looking soon-to-be frosh dragging their mothers in tow as they looked for history classrooms. Everything you were picturing in that moment about your high school experience was totally different, wasn't it?




Anyway, The Common Man will be back tomorrow night with a review of the Minnesota State Fair and any and all beers he drank there.