Truth, Justice, and the American Way

“Why do you want to be a lawyer? They are slimy, sneaky, and foul. There is nothing good about being a lawyer; they do nothing beneficial to the world or society.”

That is the typical response I get when I tell people that I am pursuing an education in law; most people wonder why someone as artistically inclined as I am would be interested in something as cold and harsh as the legal profession. It is not a woman’s game, even now in a very progressive era, and I’ve been warned that it will be a long and difficult road to getting my J.D. and passing the Bar. I’m prepared for that. I know it will not be easy to get through law school, and that the competition will be cut throat and tough, but I’m willing to face that trial, no pun intended. I know that there is very little artistic about the practice of law really, at least in the eyes of many people.

But I find something incredibly exhilarating about a closing argument and a cross examination. There’s something exciting about fighting objections and discovering the fatal flaw that unravels the opposing side’s case. And I enjoy the power trip that comes with knowing that everyone is listening to me, that it’s my show at least for that moment in time.  And there’s something rewarding about knowing that all the work and research I’ve done has been useful and important. But none of that really gets to why I want to be a lawyer.

The title of this blog is Truth, Justice, and the American Way for a reason. I want to use a law degree to make a difference.You see I haven’t quite decided what field of law I want to go into, but I’m narrowing my options. I don’t want to be a corporate attorney because I refuse to be anyone’s hired suit to be used to find the most ‘legal’ way to squeeze another penny from the average person while giving them marginal quality. I won’t do it, and you can kiss my ass if you think that’s just stupid idealism. You can bet money that those oil companies have lawyers that help them figure our how it can be legal to do what they are doing to the average citizen. And I don’t want to work in insurance law unless I’m on the policy holder’s side because I refuse to find ways to screw people out of what they are owed. I’ve been considering child advocacy because I want to work in a field that means something, and I’ve had some friends who could use a good child advocacy lawyer on their side. That’d be a rewarding career, though probably not a high paying one. I mean it would be one of the best ways to make a difference. I was told once that I would make an excellent child advocacy lawyer because I had such a good heart and strong passion.

I have a passion for Constitutional law; I guess its a nerdy thing, but I love it. And I don’t always agree with how the Supreme Court rules.  I took the ConLaw centering around civil liberties last semester, and, despite it being taught by Vile, I really liked it. I have strong beliefs when it comes to ConLaw, and I would love to argue in front of the Supreme Court some day. Some people say it is the Holy Grail of the legal profession. I’d love to fight eminent domain, and some of the garbage that I think is unconstitutional. Perhaps that eminent domain bit comes from the fact I come from a small town where family farms mean everything to people and I hate to see the government come in a take it just because they want to develop the land and make some money. I laugh maniacally when politicians’ find their houses being swept up by eminent domain.

So my third and final selection is to be a district attorney, also known as a prosecutor. I guess there’s something glamorous feeling about putting the bad guy away. I don’t know whether I’ve got what it takes to go to court and argue that a person spend a long period of time in prison, possibly decades or life in prison, but I sort of want to see justice for people like my AP English teacher Ms. Mackey, who’s daughter was brutally raped and murdered and the man who did it nearly got away with it. I want to help people who deserve justice, which may be one of the only things I’m idealistic about. I guess that may be my most idealistic aspiration, and it’s probably something I could never do.  I’m probably not cut out for that sort of thing, nor am I good enough. But I’d like to try some day. I really would.

So yeah, that’s why I want to be a lawyer and what I want to do with my law degree. Hope you enjoyed one of my few less cynical and snarky posts.

On a completely unrelated to the topic at hand note: You’ve probably noticed a sudden import of posts. Those are my writing from an old blog. I thought I would add them to this one instead of trying to keep up with two blogs.

Hark, Lucky speaks…

Ok, so I’m a terrible about this blogging thing. I hate that I never update as frequently as I would like to. Every time I decide to update something happens, and I fail to do it. Part of it is that I don’t like to post short pointless blurbs because a stupid part of me wants to give my, probably non-existent, readers something with substance. So here is a somewhat rambling and somewhat cohesive attempt at updating. I promise that I will try to update more frequently. That way you won’t think I have fallen off the face of the planet in some sort of bizarre accident.

Spoony and I saw Forbidden Kingdom at the theater, and it was a really awesome movie. I’m a total freak who fails at being a girl, but I love movies like that; I’ve always loved action and fantasy and I’m not really ashamed of it. That was the last date we’ve had, much to my disappointment, and we didn’t even get to see each other on our aniversary. He got me a gift certificate to get a mani/pedi as a present, and I’ve yet to be able to use it. He said he chose that gift because, and it’s true, I always complain about not being enough of a girl for him. He said it was a girly gift; he’s such a sweetheart. I don’t know how a guy I love so much can be so frustrating. Spoony works constantly, to the point of allowing himself to actually become sick from the exhaustion. And yet he won’t stop. He works full time already and is trying to get a second job, part time. I still don’t get why he needs it, even though he has told me his reason. Part of the reason I’m so upset is that I’m worried; I’m terrified of the phone call saying he’s managed to work himself into a hospital bed. And the other part is at least on some level selfish. I will never get to see him. I know what happens when he works like that. He never has anytime off, and that leaves us on the very farthest back burner. I can be patient, but patient shouldn’t mean never seeing him. This will be just as difficult as the distance, if not worse. Wish me luck.

Next on the list of things that I wanted to blab about tonight is something any American reader who drives can understand. What the hell is up with the gas prices these days. And don’t leave me comments on how it is all Bush’s fault. This is not a political post, nor is the focus of this blurb politics. It’s more economics than anything. It’s unethical and dishonorable to price gouge, and when a family has to choose between food/medicine and gas to go to work to buy more gas, there is something seriously wrong. I propose a significant fine on the major oil companies for every month their price is unreasonably high. These prices mena everything else is just as expensive. Studies have shown that the reason my gallon of milk costs me nearly five dollars is that my gallon of gas costs nearly four dollars if not more. This is why I refuse to do corporate law. I will not being some corporation’s hired gun to help them steal from the everyday people in this world. I do have a sense of ethics even if I want to be a lawyer.

I feel old lately. I mean I’ll be 21 in September, which means I’m not really old , but seriously, things have made me feel practically ancient. Songs come on the radio, and I remember when the song first came out, back when I was in grade school. I remember when gas was a $1.25 instead on $3.75, which by the way  made me feel like my grandmother because she always talks about gas being even less than that. Every time I think about things that become cool again, I remember when they were cool and I was in grade school. Like my kid brother was making hornets, and I was like ”Kid, I was making them, shooting them, and getting hornet ’stings’ way back when.” I then proceeded to unfold and trash them all because I remembered when kids got suspended for them.  Hornets, for those of you who don’t know, are pieces of paper, folded tightly, and are made so they are small but thick projectile weapons to be shot using rubberbands.

And finally, perhaps I won’t make such a bad wife after all. I manage this house pretty damn well, and I’m just the daughter. I practically play mother to all three other people in this house. I make sure there is food cook, laundry done. It’s me who makes the shopping list, who makes sure that everyone gets the things they need. I can cook, and I love to cook. I can handle the laundry and the dishes all while working on a paper or sorting out my kid brother’s homework problems. I’m hopelessly in love with Spoony, and we connect so well. I’m becoming in tune to his needs, emotions, etc. I’m not saying I’ll be susy homemaker, but I will be a good wife. If I can manage the stress.

“Not just different, my dear — prettier!”

So I was listening to the radio and was shocked to hear that there is a Florida plastic surgeon has written a picture book for kids about plastic surgery. Called My Beautiful Mommy, the book focuses on a mother explaining her tummy tuck and nose job to her young daughter. “Mommy” also gets a boob job, but that is not mentioned in the text, merely shown by her obviously perkier and larger breasts in the pictures. The doctor actually admits that this is true, so don’t jump on me saying that it’s just an assumption based on nothing. I personally find the existence of such a book appalling for a number of reasons.

A book glorifying plastic surgery is just wrong, especially aimed at children. You can tell me all you want that it’s not glorifying surgery to change one’s appearance, that it is just to help parents explain what’s happening to children, but you are full of crap. This book shows a mother with an ordinary nose, normal breasts, and an already flat stomach, who wears belly shirts and tight pants, getting surgery to be more beautiful. The little girl tell her that she’s already beautiful, but “Mommy” dreams of being a beauty queen and assures her daughter that she needs to be prettier.

Let’s start self-loathing at an early age. It’s not enough that as teenagers and college students and even adults we are bombarded with images of so-called perfect women, let’s get to those small children too. Honestly, while the good doctor probably had the best of intentions, the book sends very dangerous and disgusting messages to kids. “Mommy didn’t feel pretty enough, so she went to the doctor and he fixed it.” “Mommy doesn’t have the perfect face and body she had before you were born, so she’s getting it fixed so she can be perfect again.” “Natural aging and body changes from being a mommy are bad and Mommy has to have them fixed.” “Mommy isn’t hot enough, so she’s going to have surgery to maker her hotter.” These are not things young girls should hear.

The focus on how beautiful the surgery makes “Mommy” is ridiculous. If the book is about how to tell children about the surgery and the down time that comes after, then there shouldn’t be this whole spielabout her being “the most beautiful butterfly” and stuff. The line that made feel sick was the one that I quoted in the title of this blog. It’s very clear that “Mommy” doesn’t feel pretty enough so she’s having this surgery. This is a terrible thing for kids to consider. Kids should not see messages that say that you must have surgery to feel pretty, or that your genetics aren’t good enough.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bashing getting plastic surgery. Hell, I’ve thought about it countless times; liposuction, maybe getting my scars fixed,  fixing my stupid nose. But I haven’t done it, and I’m glad I haven’t. If you feel the need to get cosmetic surgery, more power to you. But I don’t see pushing it on kids. I think that if you have kids and are getting plastic surgery, sure you should explain it to them. The shock and fear of a parent in bandages and seeming unwell can be terrible. But you should explain to them that it’s not for everyone, that it is not something you have to do to be beautiful. You should sit down with your kids and talk to them about what’s happening, not give them a book to make it easier on yourself. It’s a complicated thing, and it’s important that kids understand what’s going on. A parent should take responsibility for what they are doing and it’s effect on her, or his, children.

And I have not forgotten

So I know that no one is going to want to read this cause it’s my official 9/11 blog entry and it won’t be a positive or happy entry. But here goes anyway.

I remember it all so clearly, its one of those things that never blurs out of focus. I don’t I’ll ever get that image of planes crashing, buildings falling, and fire out of my head. I was a freshman in high school and that morning we were taking the final test on The Giver. A teacher came hurrying in and began talking to my English teacher, and finally my English teacher asked the class if it was alright to turn of the TV. She turned it on just in time to see the second plane hit. I remember thinking that it was impossible, that no one would dare attack the US on our turf. We were America, Land of the Free, we were invincible and impenetrable. I was so scared, and so freaked out. I spent the whole day trying to wake up from the nightmare and shaking. People all around me were leaving school to be with family, and there were tears and pale fear stricken faces. I kept thinking that maybe if I close my eyes and open them again it will go away. That it would never have happened.

This morning I woke up, put my clothes on and ate some breakfast, just like I do everyday. I brushed my teeth, pulled my hair up, and made sure my little brother was ready for school before getting in my Blazer to head out to face a new day. I turned on my radio and sang along to “Have You Forgotten” as I dropped J.C. off at Siegel Middle and dropped a letter off for my dad. And then as I headed towards campus I took a deep breath and sighed. I silenced my radio and held a private moment of silence for those lost, those fighting, the ones left to carry on. All the heroes of that day and forward.

As I climbed out of my blazer, and I pulled out my things, I paused. The wind blew across the parking lot, and I bowed my head in prayer. I know I don’t do it enough, but I try especially on days like today. I remembered 9/11 and those who died in New York, D.C., and in that Pennsylvania field. Sometimes I think that people forget. Maybe because it’s too painful, and too ugly to remember. Maybe they hope that if they forget it will go away. But I know better. And I have not forgotten.