Why I Became a Lawyer (Vintage)

[Another Dad story -- you have to love it.  I should've had him guest blog this one, but hopefully I have done it justice.  In case you've wondered why I went to law school, here's your answer:  I had no choice.]

In the early 1970s, before I was born, my father traveled to Guatemala on business.  While there, he met with a dissatisfied customer, who expected a warranty provision to cover a repair on the machinery he had bought from my dad's company.  My dad informed him that the warranty provision did not apply to this particular repair.  A heated argument ensued. 

Eventually, the customer was fed up.  He glared across the conference room table at my father and said, "If you do not give way on this, I will put a hechizo de gitanos on you."  A gypsy curse.  This sounded serious.

My dad, a man of science, not superstition, told the customer to give it his best shot. 

His eyes locked on my father, the customer growled, "Que seas arrodeado de abogados todos los dias de tu vida" -- "May you be surrounded by lawyers all the days of your life."

At the time, the only lawyer my dad knew was his brother.  He didn't feel that his brother "surrounded" him, so he figured he was safe and soon forgot about the curse. 

Twenty years, with two kids, a job change, a move and many more business trips under his belt, my dad seemed to have escaped the fate threatened by the curse.  My brother was a broadcast journalism and business major in college, and I was well on my way to becoming a professional ballet dancer. 

Then, in the fall of my brother's senior year of college, he took a class on First Amendment law.  He connected with the professor and the material, and excelled in the course.  Somewhat out of curiosity, he decided to take the LSAT.  He rocked it, scoring a 170 -- the 99th percentile.  Although it was late in the year, he fired off some law school applications.  That spring, he was accepted with a full scholarship to a well-regarded law school.

When my brother made this rather dramatic change in his career plans, my dad was as surprised as the rest of us.  Suddenly, he had a thought:  the hechizo de gitanos!  But one more lawyer in the family doesn't really surround me, either, my dad thought.  Clearly, it was just a coincidence.

Toward the end of high school, I had to choose between pursuing ballet or going to college.  I auditioned for some companies and some college dance programs; but after weighing the options, I decided to go for the full academic experience rather than the artistic one -- I wasn't sure I saw the point of having my parents pay college tuition in exchange for more ballet classes, complimented by enjoyable but practically useless courses like dance theory.  All of which I felt would enable me to...wait tables.  Off I went to a large public university, intending to study psychology; I planned to become a counselor for dancers.

By the end of freshman year, I had dismissed psych as a sorority girl major (which, in retrospect, shouldn't have mattered since it is what you make of it, and being a psychologist would have been a great fit for me).  Although I made some feints in different directions when deciding on a major -- religion, b-school (a huge mistake) -- I ultimately settled on History (it had a lot fewer requirements than English or philosophy).  Which, of course, meant I was either destined to linger as a TA for the next 15 years while writing a dissertation on something appropriately obscure like "The Kitchen Debate Meets Leprosy: The Role of Housewife Lepers in the Cold War, April 1952-October 1954" -- or I could go to law school.  I took the LSAT, I got my top-5 law school acceptance...and that was that.

By this time, my dad couldn't help but wonder -- his two children, both lawyers...the hechizo de gitanos??  He reassured himself again -- he wasn't necessarily surrounded and, after all, neither of us were married yet.  There were still two chances left to prove that the curse hadn't stuck.

In June 2003, I married my husband:  another lawyer.  My dad started to sweat a little.  My brother had dated around a lot and had seen women in all manner of professions -- surely he wouldn't put the final nail into the curse...? 

Two years later, my brother married his wife:  another lawyer. 

Dad could deny it no longer -- the hechizo de gitanos had him.  He revealed this story for the first time when he made a toast at my brother's wedding. 

Now that I know the whole story, I realize that my life has followed its inevitable course not by the grace of God or the cascade of events resulting from a few errant choices of my own.  No, when I fret about the path my life has taken and the pitfalls of the career in which I have found myself, I know that, really, I had no choice.  I owe it all to my dad, a warranty provision, and a Guatemalan gypsy curse.

[Another Dad story -- you have to love it.  I should've had him guest blog this one, but hopefully I have done it justice.  In case you've wondered why I went to law school, here's your answer:  I had no choice.]

In the early 1970s, before I was born, my father traveled to Guatemala on business.  While there, he met with a dissatisfied customer, who expected a warranty provision to cover a repair on the machinery he had bought from my dad's company.  My dad informed him that the warranty provision did not apply to this particular repair.  A heated argument ensued. 

Eventually, the customer was fed up.  He glared across the conference room table at my father and said, "If you do not give way on this, I will put a hechizo de gitanos on you."  A gypsy curse.  This sounded serious.

My dad, a man of science, not superstition, told the customer to give it his best shot. 

His eyes locked on my father, the customer growled, "Que seas arrodeado de abogados todos los dias de tu vida" -- "May you be surrounded by lawyers all the days of your life."

At the time, the only lawyer my dad knew was his brother.  He didn't feel that his brother "surrounded" him, so he figured he was safe and soon forgot about the curse. 

Twenty years, with two kids, a job change, a move and many more business trips under his belt, my dad seemed to have escaped the fate threatened by the curse.  My brother was a broadcast journalism and business major in college, and I was well on my way to becoming a professional ballet dancer. 

Then, in the fall of my brother's senior year of college, he took a class on First Amendment law.  He connected with the professor and the material, and excelled in the course.  Somewhat out of curiosity, he decided to take the LSAT.  He rocked it, scoring a 170 -- the 99th percentile.  Although it was late in the year, he fired off some law school applications.  That spring, he was accepted with a full scholarship to a well-regarded law school.

When my brother made this rather dramatic change in his career plans, my dad was as surprised as the rest of us.  Suddenly, he had a thought:  the hechizo de gitanos!  But one more lawyer in the family doesn't really surround me, either, my dad thought.  Clearly, it was just a coincidence.

Toward the end of high school, I had to choose between pursuing ballet or going to college.  I auditioned for some companies and some college dance programs; but after weighing the options, I decided to go for the full academic experience rather than the artistic one -- I wasn't sure I saw the point of having my parents pay college tuition in exchange for more ballet classes, complimented by enjoyable but practically useless courses like dance theory.  All of which I felt would enable me to...wait tables.  Off I went to a large public university, intending to study psychology; I planned to become a counselor for dancers.

By the end of freshman year, I had dismissed psych as a sorority girl major (which, in retrospect, shouldn't have mattered since it is what you make of it, and being a psychologist would have been a great fit for me).  Although I made some feints in different directions when deciding on a major -- religion, b-school (a huge mistake) -- I ultimately settled on History (it had a lot fewer requirements than English or philosophy).  Which, of course, meant I was either destined to linger as a TA for the next 15 years while writing a dissertation on something appropriately obscure like "The Kitchen Debate Meets Leprosy: The Role of Housewife Lepers in the Cold War, April 1952-October 1954" -- or I could go to law school.  I took the LSAT, I got my top-5 law school acceptance...and that was that.

By this time, my dad couldn't help but wonder -- his two children, both lawyers...the hechizo de gitanos??  He reassured himself again -- he wasn't necessarily surrounded and, after all, neither of us were married yet.  There were still two chances left to prove that the curse hadn't stuck.

In June 2003, I married my husband:  another lawyer.  My dad started to sweat a little.  My brother had dated around a lot and had seen women in all manner of professions -- surely he wouldn't put the final nail into the curse...? 

Two years later, my brother married his wife:  another lawyer. 

Dad could deny it no longer -- the hechizo de gitanos had him.  He revealed this story for the first time when he made a toast at my brother's wedding. 

Now that I know the whole story, I realize that my life has followed its inevitable course not by the grace of God or the cascade of events resulting from a few errant choices of my own.  No, when I fret about the path my life has taken and the pitfalls of the career in which I have found myself, I know that, really, I had no choice.  I owe it all to my dad, a warranty provision, and a Guatemalan gypsy curse.

Comments

[chirky]

Hee hee - this is a cute story. And I am amused that both you and your brother each married attorneys.

Also, I do not know: what is b-school?

Bible School?
Bitch School?
Bartending School?
Ballet School?

I am clueless.

[CraigNY]

Business school!