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Dad was never big on telling me how to live. In fact, at times I found it very frustrating seeking his advice. Though he always seemed to recognize the issues and help me define the problem, he never would just tell me what to do or solve the problem. I remember leaving many of our talks thinking: “Why won’t he tell me what to do or give me an answer?”

My Dad never pushed me to become a lawyer. In fact, he might tell you that he even dissuaded me.  When I told him I was interested in law school, he was quick to hand me a copy of  One L by Scott Turow, the well-known story of a first year’s struggles and hardships at Harvard, to give me that “wake up call” and make sure I knew what I was getting myself into. 

I started at the firm as a summer clerk after interviewing with the then-managing shareholder. I worked with several partners for two summers, though never working under my father. While I was not being directly influenced by my father by working with him, the indirect influence was still very much there.

I started at the firm as a summer clerk after interviewing with the then-managing shareholder. I worked with several partners for two summers, though never working under my father. While I was not being directly influenced by my father by working with him, the indirect influence was still very much there.

What I didn’t know when I started is that lawyers are storytellers. I should have known this, of course. That’s what my dad does so well. But the story – the detail, the arc, and the substance—are what we spend our days crafting. Of course we read the cases and statutes, and we master causes of action and rules of evidence. But our jobs are to tell people’s stories–and to tell them in a way that makes sense in this framework. It is history. It is public policy. And it is about the people. It is what my dad told me.

When Dad was dying, hundreds of people came to see him. They filled the kitchen and den, stood in the halls, even out on the lawn. They were looking for one more piece of advice, a word of encouragement. He turned no one away and visited with each one of them. Sometimes several people arrived at the same time, but they each wanted to see him alone.

Mom often remarked that we should file briefs before dinner. Those evenings together form some of my fondest memories and engendered a love of public policy and debate. Through those family gatherings, I learned how to think rigorously and how to recognize the holes and blind spots in my arguments.