- Posts: 28
- Joined: Mar 04, 2016
- Mon Jan 16, 2017 9:39 pm
#32142
Any suggestions/comments appreciated. In particular, I would like comments on my use of the "civil twilight." Some proofreaders didn't know what it meant and reacted negatively to the word usage. They thought I should use another phrase, but didn't have any suggestions that I liked.
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It was the beginning of civil twilight when my eyes opened and without much thought I made a very simple decision. I was barely 16 years old when I walked out and decided that I was never coming back. I recall looking down at the clear vials with different color tops littering the elevator floor worrying about the unlocked door, but not much else. As I disappeared down -- Avenue on that quiet morning, there was no one to witness the beginning of my metaphorical descent into my life.
To be perfectly clear, I was not running away from an abusive home. Despite their limited means, my parents provided everything I needed. They simply did not understand my desire to become something more and in turn, I misunderstood them. At 16, I had outgrown them and wanted no part of the traditional Latino family culture that demanded that I serve my husband and look after home and children all the while deferring my life. It seemed like silent torture. For years, I watched my grandma, mom and aunts wake every morning and do the same thing over and over again: serve breakfast, prepare lunch, kiss everyone goodbye, clean house, cook, serve dinner, clean dishes, watch novelas, sleep and start all over again the next day. I never understood what drove them, but it drove me to crave freedom. Ironically, I got more than I bargained.
By some respects, I believe I am luckier than most -- that is, if you consider being a former 16-year-old-know-nothing-runaway-high-school-dropout-homeless-teenage-mother lucky. Yes, I am lucky because not only do I have the opportunity to reflect on my past, but those experiences miraculously did not break me. More importantly, however, was deciding early -- even though I do not recall why I made the decision or how it became my mantra -- whom I was not going to become. I was not going to be a welfare mom or drug addict or alcoholic and I certainly was not going to become someone that my children could not emulate. Simply put, despite my circumstances, I was always certain of what was not going to do.
These nots fueled me. At 18, it fueled me to walk into a law firm, one month after having my first child, to interview for a position despite my inexperience. At 24, it fueled me to go to college while working full-time and caring for young children. At other stages of my life, it fueled me to devour all knowledge and work hard every single day, without excuses, leading me to achieve my goals.
Thirty years later, why now? Why attend law school? The answer, as with everything is complicated. After 28 years in the legal field, my desire to attend law school has never diminished. In addition, since my youngest son is headed to college shortly, the timing is perfect to devote to law school. Still, desire and more time does not fully answer the question. To provide a real answer, I need to step back and make a confession.
For approximately 7 years, one of my roles has been mentoring first year associates: assisting them with acclimating to law firm life, coaching them through the basics of discovery in securities litigation and bouncing ideas of legal theory and application. Without fail, my first years will always ask: “Why didn’t you go to law school?” Some even have good-naturedly joked: “I guess those who can’t do, teach.” Frankly, I confess that because of my experience, I secretly felt superior to these first-year associates and I also hated these comments because it reminded me too much of my nots. In my mind, I relived the moments of watching the women in my life -- deferring their dreams in service to family, except that this time I was part of that cog in that wheel professionally.
Then last year, the firm’s managing partner asked me to join him and speak to a group of at-risk youth. As I spoke about my life’s journey, I saw the surprise and interest in their eyes, and realized the importance of relating my experience to these young girls. I was surprised by how relevant “my story” from 30 years ago was still relevant today and that is when I realized that I was not ready for law school until that moment. There was no denying that I was exactly where I was supposed to be and that my life does have an important purpose that transcends my title as “paralegal manager” or “mom.” Certainly, like the women in my family, I nurtured and taught a couple of generations. It is not by coincidence that I rejected the life that my grandma, mom and aunts lived. It was just part of the lessons that I needed to learn: That a life of service to my family, colleagues and others is not deferment of my life -- but was a necessary part of my journey.
I still refuse to go through life mindlessly doing the same thing day after day, but I have come to understand that there are valuable lessons in all lives – whether a homemaker, a snot-nose teenager, a troubled teen or an arrogant paralegal manager. These lessons, together with my past experiences, are what assure me that law school is the right step to take -- just as the first step outside my parents’ front door was right for me 30 years ago. These lessons have made me stronger, so much so that comments about my ability to “teach” but not pursue my dreams surprisingly do not bother me any longer. I hold my head up high and I know that am applying at exactly the right moment. This is because I know, more than I have ever known, that at this point in my life I am prepared not only for law school, but also ready to advocate for at-risk girls who are unlucky enough to become part of the system and need someone who has lived a similar “story” and who embodies their potential. Certainly, continuing as a paralegal manager would be challenging, but a comfortable path. However, I have never taken the worn path and I have never minded the possibility of an unruly dusk.
--------------------------------
It was the beginning of civil twilight when my eyes opened and without much thought I made a very simple decision. I was barely 16 years old when I walked out and decided that I was never coming back. I recall looking down at the clear vials with different color tops littering the elevator floor worrying about the unlocked door, but not much else. As I disappeared down -- Avenue on that quiet morning, there was no one to witness the beginning of my metaphorical descent into my life.
To be perfectly clear, I was not running away from an abusive home. Despite their limited means, my parents provided everything I needed. They simply did not understand my desire to become something more and in turn, I misunderstood them. At 16, I had outgrown them and wanted no part of the traditional Latino family culture that demanded that I serve my husband and look after home and children all the while deferring my life. It seemed like silent torture. For years, I watched my grandma, mom and aunts wake every morning and do the same thing over and over again: serve breakfast, prepare lunch, kiss everyone goodbye, clean house, cook, serve dinner, clean dishes, watch novelas, sleep and start all over again the next day. I never understood what drove them, but it drove me to crave freedom. Ironically, I got more than I bargained.
By some respects, I believe I am luckier than most -- that is, if you consider being a former 16-year-old-know-nothing-runaway-high-school-dropout-homeless-teenage-mother lucky. Yes, I am lucky because not only do I have the opportunity to reflect on my past, but those experiences miraculously did not break me. More importantly, however, was deciding early -- even though I do not recall why I made the decision or how it became my mantra -- whom I was not going to become. I was not going to be a welfare mom or drug addict or alcoholic and I certainly was not going to become someone that my children could not emulate. Simply put, despite my circumstances, I was always certain of what was not going to do.
These nots fueled me. At 18, it fueled me to walk into a law firm, one month after having my first child, to interview for a position despite my inexperience. At 24, it fueled me to go to college while working full-time and caring for young children. At other stages of my life, it fueled me to devour all knowledge and work hard every single day, without excuses, leading me to achieve my goals.
Thirty years later, why now? Why attend law school? The answer, as with everything is complicated. After 28 years in the legal field, my desire to attend law school has never diminished. In addition, since my youngest son is headed to college shortly, the timing is perfect to devote to law school. Still, desire and more time does not fully answer the question. To provide a real answer, I need to step back and make a confession.
For approximately 7 years, one of my roles has been mentoring first year associates: assisting them with acclimating to law firm life, coaching them through the basics of discovery in securities litigation and bouncing ideas of legal theory and application. Without fail, my first years will always ask: “Why didn’t you go to law school?” Some even have good-naturedly joked: “I guess those who can’t do, teach.” Frankly, I confess that because of my experience, I secretly felt superior to these first-year associates and I also hated these comments because it reminded me too much of my nots. In my mind, I relived the moments of watching the women in my life -- deferring their dreams in service to family, except that this time I was part of that cog in that wheel professionally.
Then last year, the firm’s managing partner asked me to join him and speak to a group of at-risk youth. As I spoke about my life’s journey, I saw the surprise and interest in their eyes, and realized the importance of relating my experience to these young girls. I was surprised by how relevant “my story” from 30 years ago was still relevant today and that is when I realized that I was not ready for law school until that moment. There was no denying that I was exactly where I was supposed to be and that my life does have an important purpose that transcends my title as “paralegal manager” or “mom.” Certainly, like the women in my family, I nurtured and taught a couple of generations. It is not by coincidence that I rejected the life that my grandma, mom and aunts lived. It was just part of the lessons that I needed to learn: That a life of service to my family, colleagues and others is not deferment of my life -- but was a necessary part of my journey.
I still refuse to go through life mindlessly doing the same thing day after day, but I have come to understand that there are valuable lessons in all lives – whether a homemaker, a snot-nose teenager, a troubled teen or an arrogant paralegal manager. These lessons, together with my past experiences, are what assure me that law school is the right step to take -- just as the first step outside my parents’ front door was right for me 30 years ago. These lessons have made me stronger, so much so that comments about my ability to “teach” but not pursue my dreams surprisingly do not bother me any longer. I hold my head up high and I know that am applying at exactly the right moment. This is because I know, more than I have ever known, that at this point in my life I am prepared not only for law school, but also ready to advocate for at-risk girls who are unlucky enough to become part of the system and need someone who has lived a similar “story” and who embodies their potential. Certainly, continuing as a paralegal manager would be challenging, but a comfortable path. However, I have never taken the worn path and I have never minded the possibility of an unruly dusk.
