Today, I am a law student.
So much for prayer involving Torts cancellation. [D.G.] showed bright and early at 9 on the dot. Had I seen what was coming, I would’ve gone home.
Two minutes in, we pick up on the case we discussed last time (the case I didn’t look at). Mr. [K.T.], can you tell me blahblahblah?
Shit, bullseye on my forehead. I give him one answer out of the three he wanted. Not bad, not great. Up and down. Good, I’m done.
WRONG.
After we get done, we talk about the jury/judge duties in deciding negligence, and he asks me. And proceeds to ask me for something which feels like the next three years. (they say it was ten to fifteen minutes). And keeps asking me. And somehow, I stumble on the right answers. Miracle, done.
WRONG.
Mr. [K.T.], give us the facts of the next case.
No clue, fucked them up so badly he had no choice but to move on. Done, finally.
WRONG.
Mr. [K.T.], there is a basis for the liability of the water company here. What is it?
I don’t fucking know, stop asking me questions! So I half ass my way through some more questions. Done.
WRONG.
He asked me one more damn thing right before the hour break. I don’t fucking remember what it was, don’t remember if I even gave a coherent answer. At this point, I give up on thinking “Done,” because there’s a-whole-nother hour to class. Thankfully, I miss the bullet on the second hour.
But HE KNOWS MY NAME NOW.
Last time he asked someone that many questions, it was because they kept getting them right. I kept getting them wrong, yet he kept coming back to me.
Now I’ve been called on in every class, with varying results. I am the average law student. I get some questions right, I get some wrong. I try, fail, try again, fail again. Occasionally, I guess right.
Yes, I AM A LAW STUDENT.
[I was also pretty sick as I recall, if this is what I was thinking of. –K]
***
I had to ask if I'd ever edited one of his papers, because that is generally how most people come to the conclusion I'm a great writer. He answered in the affirmative; I'd forgotten when I was living with him, I'd edited one of his papers. Further, my response was to cross out large sections of the paper with the accompanying comment "This doesn't work." Yes, I'm fairly proficient at editing, but I'm unfairly an asshole when it comes to editing.
***
You ever read "Death of a Salesman" by Arthur Miller? It's my absolute favorite play, for fairly obvious reasons (and one I need to reread soon, for the details dim in my mind). Willie Loman lived his whole life as a salesman, when he should have been a carpenter. He died having never truly realized what he was, or who he should have been. I identify deeply with him.
***
I told R.Y. recently that in order to become an English professor, I would need my Ph.D. in Literature. He realized this not at all, and believed the J.D. sufficed. It does not. He thought that I could go ahead and become a professor with that. When he found this out, he was kind of down. Thought that avenue remained open to me. So I hoped. So I hope.
***
How many of you wonder why I'm not a lawyer, and still don't understand why I refuse to give it a try?
How many of you wonder why I'm not a professor, and still don't understand why I refuse to give it a try?
How many, if any, of you, raised your hands for both questions?
***
I have never formally taught anyone, but I love trying to explain things. The key is to draw parallels to concepts the student understands. Since I draw similes and metaphors all the time, it gets a lot easier (and also a lot harder) to draw these parallels. You connect with the person, you create a rapport (pronounced rap-port because I intentionally dumb myself down in order to not drive myself crazy). You create a rapport, then you teach them. Fuck the mindless spouting off of information. Talk, interact, don't belittle (unless wholly deserved).
***
Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.
I can't.
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