Week Eight, Part 1 - Lawstudent Man

It's 6:40 a.m. on Monday and I’m watching cartoons in the family room with Stephie, age seven. Garfield finished up ten minutes ago. Now it’s the Super Friends with all the heroes I loved as a boy. Superman. Batman and Robin. Aquaman. Wonder Woman. I'm surprised the show is still on TV.

Terri (a/k/a "Telecom Woman") left at 6:00 this morning for Chicago. She’ll be taking her biggest customer, an infomercial marketer, on a tour through an AT&T call center.

So I’m on kid patrol.

Stephie ("Eggshell Girl") is already dressed for school, white sweater and blue skirt. She burrows into her favorite corner of the leather couch. In lieu of breakfast, she sips a Capri Sun, six ounces of over-packaged fruit juice.

I'm on the middle cushion. Between gulps of apple cider, I book-brief my cases for CivPro. I mark the major facts and issues in Harkness v. Hyde, an 1878 Supreme Court decision regarding personal jurisdiction. My only weapon against The Dastardly Professor Bauer and his fiendish questions is a large-barreled, chisel-tipped, sky-blue highlighter.

I tell Stephie that when I was her age I used to watch the Super Friends.

She arches an eyebrow. “Garfield too?”

“Nope. The Original Eating Machine had yet to be created.”

Stephie stares at me like I’m ancient.

Several minutes later I reach over and tap her foot. “In three years I’ll have the ‘power of attorney.’ Maybe they’ll create an MPT character.”

No response.

We watch a commercial for Reese's Peanut Butter Puffs, a new breakfast cereal.

“Those look good,” I say, thinking about a childhood limited to Corn Flakes and Wheaties.

Stephie nods. Either she’s not much for morning chit-chat or I’m to be disregarded, like Jonathan Q. Arbuckle, Garfield’s owner.

Lauren ("Sleeping Girl"), age five, is still in bed. After she gets ready, I’ll drop her and Steph at school, then drive up to Notre Dame.

As of Friday, first semester will be half over. Professor Bauer still hasn’t called on me. "Please, Lord, don’t let it be today. From now on, I promise, no more book-briefs."

I look around the room. Entertainment center. Fireplace and mantel. Wall-to-wall carpeting. Breakfast bar. Bay window. French doors. I grew up poor and our old house didn’t have any of these features.

How’d I wind up here!? I wonder. A year ago I was an English teacher, single, living in Minnesota. Now I’m a Notre Dame lawyer-to-be, married with kids, and the Original Studying Machine.

It still feels like make believe.

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