Here <i> Is</i> Possible From There : Remembering her origins has special significance for a teen-age mother who made it, against the odds.
I get the calls a couple of times each year. A local public junior high school counselor, usually from a school boasting a “mostly minority” student population, will ask me to speak at Career Day. Unless my schedule is unyielding, I cannot resist the invitation. I am a Role Model, capitalized: an African American woman with an advanced degree who does work that many of the audience members have fantasized about. I may be the first person of color some of the kids have seen who does the work that I do. I may be the first real-life lawyer some have ever seen. Having been there, I cannot resist going back.
I know that I have been invited because I represent possibility. My information kit usually directs me to tell the students something about the education I needed to become a law school professor. I am to impress them with the hard work it will take to get from where they are to where I am. They are at a crossroads, I am told, having to decide what to do about the rest of their secondary education in order to realize a dream or two. Some of them are considering whether to continue their education at all.
Last fall, the Santa Monica YWCA Career Day was at the John Adams Middle School. The students were restless, wearing on the patience of their teachers and vice principal. The other panelists were a professional beach-volleyball player, a recreation supervisor and an intimidating karate instructor with the fourth-degree black belt. As befits our host, the panel was all female.
As I gathered my notes, I realized why I make the time to attend career days: It is a grounding exercise. I do not want to forget that my present self is the sum of my life. As much as career days give me a chance to represent possibility to young African Americans, I also get to remind myself, “Here is very much possible from there.” I once was, in the language of social science, an economically disadvantaged, single teen mother. Statistically, I should not be a law-school professor, nor should my daughter be an only child or a college graduate. These facts are vital elements of my discussion, because the risk exists that some members of the audience are or will become single teen parents. There is an equal likelihood that there are many economically disadvantaged children at the school at which I am speaking.
I tell them about my origins and my early parenthood, not merely as cautionary tale, but also as an offering of hope. It is as important to me to include unplanned parenthood in my presentation as it is to point out how I got into college, what my grades were like or the route I took from law student to law professor. It is part of my objective of presenting possibility to these students: You can have a life after early, unexpected parenthood. It will not be an easy life, but it can be productive and fulfilling. There are innumerable sources willing to suggest to them that they will fail in life. I like offering the possibility that they will succeed.
I don’t sugarcoat the teen parenting experience: Once I became a parent, I gave up dating as it is traditionally perceived and deferred a college education in favor of full-time employment until my daughter was 8 and able (if not particularly willing) to accept an explanation for our changed economic circumstances. I tell the students that my daughter and I grew up together, that I was attending to the needs of a child while just out of my own childhood. And I always identify the life choices I made that were directed by the promise I made to myself that my child’s life would be better--filled with more options and possibilities--than mine.
Nor do I forget to tick off the positives: Having a daughter gave me great joy and purpose. I discovered that, to persuade this child that she could do anything or be whatever she wanted, I had to live my life in a way that affirmed that. It was not enough simply to tell her that the world was her oyster if I, her primary role model, did not do what I wanted. She was a powerful catalyst, propelling me through college and graduate school, keeping me from remaining in a job that bored me. And, my daughter has always been my most ardent fan and strongest supporter.
She even helped me get through law school. She gave me a life-saving study tip: When studying for long periods, take a two- to five-minute break every hour. During this short break, wash your face, make a doctor’s appointment, prepare lunch, check the mail, check airline ticket prices to Tahiti. Whatever you do, she advised me, get out of the chair in which you are studying and move your brain to something else. As promised, I came back from my breaks refreshed, ready for work. I continue to pass this hint on. (It works for bar-exam preparation as well.)
It is with wonder that I tell students that life is change and growth, and what seems like a mistake can become an opportunity. I remember how my high school guidance counselor responded to my pregnancy. She suggested that I withdraw from my college-preparatory public school for gifted and talented girls and enroll in vocational school, where I could “learn a trade and maybe find a husband and father” for me and my child. I ignored her and graduated with my class; my mother brought my daughter to the ceremony.
Sometimes, surprised silence greets my reference to my teen pregnancy. Usually, the students are more interested in my annual income, whether I go to court, whether there is a test you have to take to get into law school. Once a student asked if law-school professors are “real lawyers.”
Then there are the other times. For instance, in Santa Monica, a student asked my favorite career-day question: What is my daughter doing now?
She’s living in Philadelphia, finishing her MBA, working in mortgage banking. She is planning a July wedding. We are friends, she calls four times a week, she is happy. These are the most affirming facts of all.
