There are memorable, momentous moments in my life.
The day JFK was shot.
The day Nixon announced the end to the Vietnam war.
Watching the signing of the documents ending the Vietnam war, seeing the oversized, oval table that had been the subject of squabbling, and hearing the church bells ringing.
The day the Twin Towers fell.
The day I pissed off a TSA woman and have never since been able to get on a plane without first being felt up by a TSA person. That’s when I decided to refuse to wear a bra when I fly.
My 60th birthday when I realized my life is finite.
Such an odd collection.
There are things I remember, but weren’t momentous.
The day I got married. That was the culmination of me being in the middle of a war between my mother and mother-in-law. I should have eloped. For a wedding gift, my mother gave me an old ironing board with a ripped cover.
The day I graduated from college with two degrees – journalism and biology. That was the day my mother refused to come to commencement.
The day I discovered I was adopted and felt as if I had been slammed into a brick wall. The entire front of me hurt. Even my toes.
The day I was accepted into law school and wondered why a rejection letter would start with the word congratulations. It took a few minutes to realize I had been accepted and not rejected.
The day I graduated from law school and wore a pair of pink flamingo earrings for commencement. I didn’t want anyone to think I was taking graduation too seriously.
The four days when I was admitted to practice law:
New York – I remember Judge Denman’s stirring words after I was admitted: Call the next case. A man sitting in the row behind me tapped me on the shoulder and congratulated me.
Federal District Court.
Supreme Court of the United States – when I discovered William Rhenquist was charming and Sandra Day O’Connor actually could shut up.
New Mexico.
The three times I argued before the New Mexico Supreme Court. The third time, Judge Chavez addressed me by my first name and I realized I had made a major impression on the Court and hoped it was a good impression.
There is one, nagging, bad memory. The day the Twin Towers fell. When I came to work the next day, my coworkers asked me if I knew anyone who had died. I wondered why they thought I was so cold that I would come to work the day after someone I knew got blown up by a terrorist. My emotional responses were about a week behind everyone I knew. A juvenile client saw my law school diploma, realized I’m from New York and asked about the towers. I had to maintain composure while crying inside. While I abhor the loss of life, I’m not sorry that twin architectural monstrosities were obliterated.
As I have every other year, I’ll be skipping the ceremonies, cannon firings, speeches, and flag flying.
Deb's Art 