How did I end up in this crazy line of work? It was not my life’s dream or ever a major ambition. I ended up in law school in large part because two men told me I could not do it. The first time I heard it, it stung a little but since I didn’t think I wanted law school, I didn’t care so much. He was a college boyfriend headed down his own law school path and one day as we discussed our future, he seriously advised me to find something else that he thought would be more fitting for my intellect. We didn’t last.
The second man was my boss. It was 10 years later. I was married with two kids and living in Houston, Texas. My undergraduate degree of Urban Planning was useless in a city where no planning exists. Vacant land? Throw up a high rise, or a subdivision, who cares what lies around it or about road systems. Long story short I landed a great fun job in a law office as a paralegal. Then one day a summer law clerk informed me that the in state tuition at University of Houston Law School was only $13.00 a credit hour. What? How could I not consider this next step when I loved working in a law firm so much? After I was accepted, my boss of 4 years flatly told me that I would never make it. This brought to mind the old boyfriend’s words and well, I became what you could call hell bent.
My husband Geoff and I worked out a plan. I would take kids to day care in the morning, work half a day and then go to classes at night. He would do the evening routine. Yes, that is what I said, I enrolled in school, continued working, and I had two kids, ages 3 and 18 months. Someone should have told me I had no sense but I was determined, and fortunately Geoff was equally unaware of how crazy I was. The only time I took pause was just before my first class, Civil Procedure, when I went to the women’s rest room to find a classmate puking in one of the stalls because she was so nervous.
Before I knew it I was through my first semester as with above average grades. The kids were a detriment to reading time and study, but somewhere inside my head there was enough grey matter to sustain me through the grind. Law school is all about reading and showing up for class. Then at the end of the term, there is hell week where you take two hour finals regurgitating everything taught to you into blue exam books. Back in the olden days, there was no lap top use. Hand writing was the mode of communication. I will forever blame these exams for my arthritis.
Year one finished with decent grades and our family still intact.
In the fall of 2015 I saw a Face Book friend post that she was planning to attend The Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, Ohio. This workshop sells out in a matter of hours. Now I had never written anything that was not of a legal nature, but for reasons I will never fully comprehend, I immediately logged on and received one of the coveted spots.
The Mad Divorce Lawyer 