Why haven’t you gone into private practice?

With the mania of college football gone, these are dull days until the baseball seasons starts anew. These are days where I start to think about the things that are important in life. One such matter is whether I should remain a Public Defender.

Last night, a local at Loco’s was amazed that I was working at a job that paid me less than he paid his drivers. This sentiment is nothing new to me. I have been told a number of times by family & friends that I should go into private practice.

Yet, after I gave the matter much thought, I came to the same conclusion as I have done before. I like being a public defender. A reason why I like being a PD goes back to my high school days when I met Ms. Melvin.

I was in the 10th grade. I was in 2nd semester typing class. I realized on the first day that I was not able to get over 35 wpm. Since I had plans to go to college, I could not have a poor grade or a failing one in this class. Thus, I made the decision to withdraw from the class. I went to my counselor, and she told me only class that was “Street Justice.” While she had concerns about me being in the class, she approved my transfer into the class.

Now, just a little aside is needed here. It is 1989. I had a mullet. I was into metal music. I had the act down pat or as much as a poor-boy / dork could have it down. I look back on those days with a sense of humor & WTF? Nevertheless, back on that fateful day, I was wearing my Metallica “…And Justice For All” t-shirt.

Mrs. Melvin was the teacher of this class. To describe her to y’all, will require me to invoke an image from an old Warner Bros. Cartoon. Mrs. Melvin reminded me of “Prissy,” the skinny hen that was in love with Foghorn Leghorn. However, Mrs. Melvin had more personality & more nerve than that cartoon hen.

Anyhow, here I come into her class with more attitude than sense. She took one look at me, and sighed as if she was thinking, “not another knucklehead for me to set straight.” Plus, the only seat left in her class was in front of her podium. So, she had to see my mug everyday for the remainder of the semester. Yet, over the semester, I found my passion in life in that class, the law. However, only now, do I realize that my calling to be a PD had its genesis in that class.

I don’t know what Mrs. Melvin was paid as a teacher, but Lord knows that it was not enough to put up with unruly, arrogant, and self-righteous children like me. Yet, she did do it. She provided guidance, love, and insight to a number of children as if they were her own. Her devotion to us has rubbed off on me to be devoted to those less fortunate, even if it does not provide a great monetary reward.

I will not lie to you and claim that I’m a PD for life. I subscribe to the ideal that the future is not set, and that I’m open to new opportunities. However, I feel and believe that I’m where I belong.

O tidings of comfort and joy

I have a Christmas Eve day tradition. Every year, I pull out my “memory chest,” and take a walk down memory lane while listening to either Christmas Music or Irish/Celtic music. The “memory chest” is nothing special; it is rather large plastic storage container where I have kept mementos from my family and my collective past.

Some years it was arduous to keep this tradition.

On December 25, 2002, my grandmother died. She had suffered terribly. From 1995 to 2002, my grandmother was going to hospitals on a regular basis. If it was not for heart surgery, it was for strokes or some other complication due to her diabetes. Her condition had deteriorated so badly by the time I was in law school that my aunts, uncles, and my mom had to place her in a nursing home. It was hard going to that nursing home on Christmas and to see the woman that I remembered and love reduced to nothing more than a shell of her former self. It was hard to look at the pictures of past Christmases where she was full of vitality and joy being surrounded by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Back in 2003, I was still reeling from the death of my sister-in-law, and my baby niece in a car accident where the other driver was intoxicated. Moreover, it was going to be Maddie’s first Christmas. In addition, my other niece and nephew would not have their mother at Christmas anymore. I did not want to open that chest and to remember anything. The memories of my past (both good and ill) would lead me back to the lost that my brother, my family, and I had suffered. Furthermore, it would cause the scar on my heart to tear asunder, fester with anger & hate, and cause the wound to grow anew.

Yet, the tradition felt right again in 2005. It was three years since the death of my maternal grandmother. I was finishing some last minute shopping at the Mall of Georgia. After I was done with my shopping, I felt a calling to go Granny’s grave and speak to her. Like most Southerners, I visit the burial plots of my deceased relatives and spend time talking to them, but I had not been to Granny and Papaw’s grave since Granny’s death on Christmas Day 2002. While there was a more direct route from the Mall of Georgia to the cemetery, I took my time and drove through the back roads of Northern Gwinnett County and Lawrenceville. I found myself going by a number of places that had significance in my life, such as the old Button Gwinnett Hospital, where I was born, Dr. Ezzard’s office, where I spend a number of days hoping that he could find a way to make me feel better, Lawrenceville Elementary, where I first attended school, my birth home on Stone Mountain Street. When I crouched next to Granny and Papaw’s tombstone and spoke a few words, I realized that it was more important to cherish the wealth of memories and love that my grandmother had for me and I for her, and not to focus incessantly on her death on Christmas day. As I drove home, I felt a sense of joy for Christmas that I had not felt in years, and was glad to take that walk down memory lane.

Now, when I go through the “Memory Chest,” I feel a sense that I am blessed. Also, I realize that what is important in this life is to take care of the ones that I love, and have faith that I will see the members of my family and my friends that are amongst the faithful departed.

So, with all this dribble said, I want to wish you and yours a Merry Christmas.

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