I’m Going to be a Lawyer When I Grow Up

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Westerns, old westerns, I hate them. They are the bane of my existence. Why Daddy couldn’t watch something else was beyond me. I had been so excited when he pulled me out of school, but that excitement had faded in the 6 hours and thirty-two minuets that I had been stuck in this hospital room watching old westerns and getting my hair pulled by my little brother, Daniel. I clicked my heels against the tiled floor just so that I could hear some sound other than that of my mother moaning or those stupid cowboys riding around on their stupid horses. I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Daddy can we go get something from the vending …” I stopped speaking.
My mothers’ monitors were going crazy. Daddy pushed me out of the way and rushed to her side. She looked rough, covered in sweat and with tears running out of the corners of her eyes.

Doctors and nurses rushed in. My grandfather grabbed mine and Daniels hands and rushed us out of Moms room into a waiting room down the hall. This room was just as boring as hers had been. The furniture was light, and felt more like plastic than wood. The walls were dull green and carried an indistinct, generic pattern. But I was no longer bored; I was nervous and very scared. My grandfather tried to distract us by reading aloud form a National Geographic Magazine, needless to say that didn’t work too well on a pair of eight and nine year olds. We were worried about Mother.
Tension hung thick in the air.
“Grandpa what’s wrong with Mommy”, I asked in what I hoped sounded like a brave, big girl voice. I couldn’t show fear in front of Daniel, he was only eight after all.
“Nothings wrong with Kathy, baby love. Everything’s going to be just right, you’ll see, Sara Kathaleen is a strong Lady.”
No she’s not, I wanted to argue. Sure Mommy was brave and spirited but the pregnancy had made her body weak and fragile. If the doctors were worried I knew I should be too. I sat there thinking about what a great person my mother was, how kind and sweet and loving. She was good. I had made up my mind. She was going to be fine because she deserved to be happy. I began the silent argument. With whom, I had no idea, some unknown person, someone with the power to make my mother feel better. I plead her case diligently. I explained why it would be in the worlds, no the universes best interest if she lived. How the sky would be bluer and the sun would shine brighter if she was still here tomorrow.
After only fifteen minuets of sitting in that stale smelling waiting room my father burst into the room, a wide smile splitting across his face.
“It’s a boy and Sara’s fine”, was all he said.
I was figured that she was OK not because of the doctors but because of me, because I had won the argument with God or Fate or who ever had been listening.
I was going to be a lawyer when I grew up.





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