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Ernest Hemmingway accepted a challenge once to write a complete story in six words. He wrote: “For Sale: Baby Shoes - Never Used.” It has been suggested he said that this was his finest work. I don’t know. I’ve read his stories many times, and I have found his command of the English language and understanding of the human condition exceptionally evident in almost any six words he wrote. But telling a whole story in six words….

I feel like I have to do that every time I am asked to change my password to access some computer program or another. The screen blinks at me, “Change Password: Do It or Die.” And I try immediately to invent a new password that is so similar to my other ones I won’t forget it, and dissimilar enough that the computer won’t respond with the phrase: “Invalid Password: Passwords Must be Alphanumeric.” I try again to find an acceptable variant, and the machine responds: “Error: Passwords Cannot Contain Certain Characters.” The dreaded P4C error code! Scratching my head I wonder what it’s going to take to get this machine to allow my creativity to be expressed and simultaneously stop honest people from accessing my highly secret accounts. I try again, and it responds: “You Cannot Use Your Birth Date,” followed moments later by, “Words Written Backwards Are Too Easy.” On and on the game continues. “Unacceptable: Sudoku Is All About Numbers.” My eyelids droop, and my parched throat begs for something other than what is left in the office coffee pot. I hit upon an idea: just like tic-tac-toe, the only way to win is to not play at all. So I ask the machine for a suggested password, and it replies, “Six Words Tell The Whole Story.” Eesh!

I type in, “SWTTWS,” followed by a sequential number starting and ending with “1” containing one whole number, thinking I have hit upon the ultimate password formulary: give the machine what it wants to hear. It replies, “Security Warning: RADAR Phrases Not Permissible.” What’s a mother to do!, I think to myself, and I enter “MOTHER2DO.” Not wishing to be outdone, the computer instructs me: “Passwords Are Case Sensitive. Try Again.” By now I am so frosted, I type, “ThermoNuclearWarfare2Day.” And it replies, “How About A Game Of Chess?” I was crestfallen - it had seen the movie too. Then it came to me. I typed, “4 Sale: Used Computer – Won’t Work.” I sat there while it’s little LED’s flashed on and off, and I sat some more. Finally I received its answer: “Confirm New Password Then Click ENTER.” Finally! My fingers touch the keys ever so delicately entering the exact structure and form. Suddenly, there it was: the screen beyond the Logon prompt. The screen asking me to select the program I wanted to use. The screen beyond the screen. I make my program selection. A full nanosecond later I read, “Password Expired – Enter A New Password.”

But what I really wanted to write about today is not the impediments to our performing our jobs – there are many – but I wanted to celebrate the overwhelming success we actually have doing our jobs. There are administrators who believe the glass is always 20% empty, but by and large we are sustaining our effort, and for many and many families it is a good thing that we came along.

One might say however that the true problem in juvenile justice lies with cousins. They appear to be the most common excuse for why young people get into trouble. “My cousin, he…,” or “My cousin, she….” Children today have vastly more cousins than my generation had at the same age. It is a broad-sweeping societal change being experienced all across our continent. Just the other day, I read a headline in a national publication in the grocery store checkout line which said, “My Cousin Made Me Do It!”

It appears that relationships are indeed a key dynamic in juvenile justice. They rank high on the criminogenic factors most commonly associated with delinquency. Like relationships, the juvenile justice topics discussed most frequently by Governors today all seem to be correlated with “Re” words. If you are looking for grant funding, or planning a conference, or trying to formulate a report on setting goals for your organizational unit, I don’t want you to feel left out of the mainstream. Here is a simple matrix you can use to title just about anything in juvenile justice today:

Juvenile Justice: A Governor’s Program Primer

Prefix (pick one)	Topic (pick one)	Suffix (pick one)

Re-thinking	Re-entry	Responses
Research-based	Recidivism	Rewards
Reality-based	Repetitive	Renewal
Re-defining	Resilience	Regulations
Re-evaluating	Retribution	Registration
Re-aligning	Reformation	Resistance
Rejuvenating	Responsivity	Research
Revitalizing	Rehabilitation	Reform
Re-designing	Restoration	Results
Reducing	Restitution	Reliance
Re-focusing	Residual	Resources
Re-structuring	Residential	Revenues
Re-inventing	Recompensable	Remonstrations
Re-making	Regenerative	Renovation

Economy of language is a skill we can all learn from the masters who came before us. Basically, why use six words when three will do. But if you truly are finding it difficult to capture your particular emphasis using the “Re” words provided above, don’t hesitate to add another column of words, starting with “Risk-.” Phrases such as risk-based, risk-averse, risk-reward, risk-reduction, and the like should hold you in good esteem regardless the audience. The next time you gather with your colleagues, ask yourselves how you would tell the Governor our story of juvenile justice in six words. Mine?