To my readers: Since I’ve been slowed by a hip joint surgery, this week’s column is a rerun — from 30 years ago. I think it’s still relevant to our times.

I recently returned from a little two-day trial in Glenwood Springs where I was doing what most lawyers do for a living — helping people fight about money. In this case, the focus of attention was a duplex in Aspen, started eight years ago, $2 million over budget, and still not completed. From a purely selfish point of view, it was nice being up in the mountains in September, away from the telephone, engaging in intellectual combat with worthy adversaries.

But on the second day of trial, as we were coming back into court after the noon recess, we encountered a delay (not unusual in this business). The judge was handling an emergency matter brought to him by the local Department of Social Services.

The department, it seems, was asking the court to decide whether a young boy should be taken away from his parents because the boy and his parents weren’t getting along and the boy kept ending up in serious trouble.

This boy was maybe 16. He looked like the star in a Walt Disney family adventure or one of the kids in an “Ozzie and Harriet” rerun. Except that on his face there was an expression of deep sadness and pain.

You couldn’t help but like this boy — and his parents, too, who were obviously sincere in their desire to have their son back in their home, trying again to make things work.

The judge, with empathy and patience, listened to all who had come to his courtroom to have their say in this matter. Of greatest concern to the judge was the fact that the boy two weeks earlier had tried to commit suicide, with razor blades to the wrists.

Only after the boy looked the judge in the eye and assured the judge that he wouldn’t again try to hurt himself, and only after the parents acknowledged their understanding that the judge was trusting them with the life of this child, was a decision made that the boy could return to his family. And the judge’s final words to the boy were: “Call me — anytime — if you need my help.”

As I watched this proceeding from the back of the courtroom, uppermost in my mind was the thought that I have a 12-year-old son who must soon grow up in a complex world full of difficult choices. I hope I’ll be able to help him make those choices. I hope he’ll give me the chance to try.

And it also occurred to me how lucky we are to have a judicial system that stands as a backstop to the wild pitches life sometimes throws at us — and to have judges who, with equal wisdom, can decide matters of money in the morning and matters affecting the lives of children in the afternoon.

As we again took our places in the courtroom to continue with our trial, there was a marked change in mood from earlier in the day. The voices were quieter. The parties (and even the lawyers) treated each other with uncommon respect.

The witnesses were no longer absolute in their memory of significant events. And somehow, an over-budget duplex in Aspen didn’t seem so important anymore.

Jim Flynn is a business columnist. He is with the Colorado Springs firm Flynn & Wright; moneylaw@jtflynn.com.

Money and the Law columnist Jim Flynn