History, holding on, and giving up
posted by M. LeBlanc
Three days ago, I raised my right hand and said, "I, [name], do solemnly swear that I will support the Constitution of the United States, and the Constitution of the State of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge my duties to the best of my ability."
I don't really know when I decided I wanted to be a lawyer. It's not one of those stories that involves me dreaming about courtrooms when I was seven, or following in a parent's footsteps. My father is a graphic artist, painter and sculptor who I think always hoped, or at least dreamed, that one of his children might follow him into the arts. It looked as though I may, for a time; in high school I devoted all my time to theater and choir, writing poetry, playing piano, singing, writing songs. My mother was a school teacher, who taught English and French and History to junior high students. She too, was a musician, a singer and pianist and guitarist and poet.
These people raised me with a deep appreciation for art and music. Both sustain me and inspire and move me. But during my first year of college, I found that theater seemed hollow. I wanted something more stimulating, something harder, something where pure blunt intellectual force and determination were going to bring me to success. I changed my major to Mathematics, and then a semester later, added English to it. I wanted to be a math teacher for a while, and then a math professor, but it lost its luster when I got rejected from a bunch of summer research programs.
During my junior year, I attended a pro-choice activists’ workshop in Austin, Texas. A representative from Jane’s Due Process, an organization that works with a team of attorneys to help minors in Texas get judicial bypasses of the parental notification law for abortions, was there and spoke briefly to us. I remember my heart jumping almost immediately. I thought, “I want to be one of those guys! I want to do something like THAT!” I wanted real power to help actual people.
But becoming a lawyer seemed like something foreign to me. I didn't know any lawyers growing up; I'm not related to any, either. No one I knew in college was planning on applying to law school. My family and especially my father seemed to think it quite weird, and an odd choice of profession for me. My college boyfriend was unsupportive, and everyone kept telling me "but how will you ever afford it?"
It was a challenge from the very beginning. I didn't have any money to pay for application fees. I didn't have money to take an LSAT course or even buy LSAT books. I didn't have a support system and I couldn't go visit any law schools. Three weeks before the LSAT, I broke up with the guy I'd been dating for four years, and found myself totally alone in a 350-sq-ft apartment with almost no friends. What else was there to do, but study? It paid off--I did well. But then came the frustration of trying to get schools to waive my application fee, applying, trying to figure out what my chances were. When I started getting accepted to schools and picked the one I liked best, they required a $500 deposit that I didn't have. I begged, and they waived it. I moved into a house with 4 other girls to save money.
When I moved, I was totally broke. All I had were some clothes and a futon I slept on for a year that gave me back problems. Of course, I didn't have money to pay for school, and I didn't qualify for the private loans that everyone else got to cover tuition and living expenses. I didn't have a cosigner. But I wanted to attend. I showed up to class, hoping that despite my non-payment the school would find a way to let me stay, and they did. I cried so many days that first semester because I had no money and I thought I was going to have to drop out.
When I graduated, everyone I knew enrolled in a bar-study course that cost $3000. I didn't have the money to pay for it and couldn't get a loan. Didn't have a cosigner. I cried and cried, and then I decided to toughen up. I cut off my internet and cable, quit the gym, and tried to find a job. I failed. I ate the cheapest food I could find, and I bought someone's bar study materials off Craigslist. I studied hard, relying heavily on my friends who were in the course. I made it through the whole summer on the charity of others and a few hundred dollars I had saved. I didn't pay my rent for a month.
I passed the bar. I've been complaining about how hard it was, but I should say that I've been incredibly lucky. I have extremely supportive friends who gave me money, rides, quizzed me, and offered advice. My boyfriend bought me countless meals and delivered umpteen pep talks. I am blessed with a mind that made it relatively easy for me to understand large amounts of material. But almost every day I wanted to break down and cry. I'd made it so far, and still, I had to struggle so hard to stay afloat.
And now I'm here. At the ceremony, tears streamed down my face for most of it. One justice of the Illinois supreme court mentioned that in the morning, all around the country, in criminal courts attorneys are presenting and defending against motions to suppress evidence, trying to get the 4th and 5th amendments right. I had to choke back a sob, because getting it right is what I want to try and do. I believe in due process. The notion of due process is what limits the power of our government to take away our liberties or our property. We consent to being governed because we need protection, but we reserve a certain power, to maintain autonomy unless the powerful go through a long and arduous process where we finally decide they may deprive us of it.
So I want to help people get this process that is their due. I want to advocate for them, I want to help solve their problems. No one comes to a lawyer on their best day, they come on their worst day. People cry in my office, they whisper because they are ashamed of their problems, of what they've done, of what they have to endure. And I assure them that if there is a way I can help, I will.
Our lives are not our own; they belong to the people who desperately need us.
I don't really know when I decided I wanted to be a lawyer. It's not one of those stories that involves me dreaming about courtrooms when I was seven, or following in a parent's footsteps. My father is a graphic artist, painter and sculptor who I think always hoped, or at least dreamed, that one of his children might follow him into the arts. It looked as though I may, for a time; in high school I devoted all my time to theater and choir, writing poetry, playing piano, singing, writing songs. My mother was a school teacher, who taught English and French and History to junior high students. She too, was a musician, a singer and pianist and guitarist and poet.
These people raised me with a deep appreciation for art and music. Both sustain me and inspire and move me. But during my first year of college, I found that theater seemed hollow. I wanted something more stimulating, something harder, something where pure blunt intellectual force and determination were going to bring me to success. I changed my major to Mathematics, and then a semester later, added English to it. I wanted to be a math teacher for a while, and then a math professor, but it lost its luster when I got rejected from a bunch of summer research programs.
During my junior year, I attended a pro-choice activists’ workshop in Austin, Texas. A representative from Jane’s Due Process, an organization that works with a team of attorneys to help minors in Texas get judicial bypasses of the parental notification law for abortions, was there and spoke briefly to us. I remember my heart jumping almost immediately. I thought, “I want to be one of those guys! I want to do something like THAT!” I wanted real power to help actual people.
But becoming a lawyer seemed like something foreign to me. I didn't know any lawyers growing up; I'm not related to any, either. No one I knew in college was planning on applying to law school. My family and especially my father seemed to think it quite weird, and an odd choice of profession for me. My college boyfriend was unsupportive, and everyone kept telling me "but how will you ever afford it?"
It was a challenge from the very beginning. I didn't have any money to pay for application fees. I didn't have money to take an LSAT course or even buy LSAT books. I didn't have a support system and I couldn't go visit any law schools. Three weeks before the LSAT, I broke up with the guy I'd been dating for four years, and found myself totally alone in a 350-sq-ft apartment with almost no friends. What else was there to do, but study? It paid off--I did well. But then came the frustration of trying to get schools to waive my application fee, applying, trying to figure out what my chances were. When I started getting accepted to schools and picked the one I liked best, they required a $500 deposit that I didn't have. I begged, and they waived it. I moved into a house with 4 other girls to save money.
When I moved, I was totally broke. All I had were some clothes and a futon I slept on for a year that gave me back problems. Of course, I didn't have money to pay for school, and I didn't qualify for the private loans that everyone else got to cover tuition and living expenses. I didn't have a cosigner. But I wanted to attend. I showed up to class, hoping that despite my non-payment the school would find a way to let me stay, and they did. I cried so many days that first semester because I had no money and I thought I was going to have to drop out.
When I graduated, everyone I knew enrolled in a bar-study course that cost $3000. I didn't have the money to pay for it and couldn't get a loan. Didn't have a cosigner. I cried and cried, and then I decided to toughen up. I cut off my internet and cable, quit the gym, and tried to find a job. I failed. I ate the cheapest food I could find, and I bought someone's bar study materials off Craigslist. I studied hard, relying heavily on my friends who were in the course. I made it through the whole summer on the charity of others and a few hundred dollars I had saved. I didn't pay my rent for a month.
I passed the bar. I've been complaining about how hard it was, but I should say that I've been incredibly lucky. I have extremely supportive friends who gave me money, rides, quizzed me, and offered advice. My boyfriend bought me countless meals and delivered umpteen pep talks. I am blessed with a mind that made it relatively easy for me to understand large amounts of material. But almost every day I wanted to break down and cry. I'd made it so far, and still, I had to struggle so hard to stay afloat.
And now I'm here. At the ceremony, tears streamed down my face for most of it. One justice of the Illinois supreme court mentioned that in the morning, all around the country, in criminal courts attorneys are presenting and defending against motions to suppress evidence, trying to get the 4th and 5th amendments right. I had to choke back a sob, because getting it right is what I want to try and do. I believe in due process. The notion of due process is what limits the power of our government to take away our liberties or our property. We consent to being governed because we need protection, but we reserve a certain power, to maintain autonomy unless the powerful go through a long and arduous process where we finally decide they may deprive us of it.
So I want to help people get this process that is their due. I want to advocate for them, I want to help solve their problems. No one comes to a lawyer on their best day, they come on their worst day. People cry in my office, they whisper because they are ashamed of their problems, of what they've done, of what they have to endure. And I assure them that if there is a way I can help, I will.
Our lives are not our own; they belong to the people who desperately need us.
Posted at 1:16 PM
|
