As a child of the 70s and 80s, most of my butterfly collar clad friends wanted to be policemen, firemen or basically any profession represented by the Village People. I was the weird little kid that didn't want to be an astronaut. I wanted to be a lawyer. It wasn't necessarily my fault. My fate was sealed for me. From a young age, it was ingrained in my head that I was going to be a lawyer. As a six year old, I had no idea what a lawyer was, but apparently it was the greatest job that anyone could ever possibly possess. It meant riches beyond your wildest dreams and great respect. A childhood friend of mine had a similar indoctrination from his parents. He even carried his older brother's Clash of the Titans lunch box in honor of L.A. Law's Harry Hamlin.
As the years passed, John and I stayed the course. We became Political Science majors. We took the LSAT. We both decided to apply to Yale Law School. John was accepted. My application to the school was returned to me after apparently being run several times through a paper shredder. Yale Admissions had even taken the additional step of attaching a protective order barring me from any further contact with the institution. (Note to Yale: A simple no would have sufficed). I would eventually hit the books at Pace Law School.