Sister Said ‘My Fiancé’s Dad Is A Federal Judge’ – Until He Called Me ‘Your Honor’ At Dinner
The message came on a Tuesday afternoon while I was reviewing case files in my chambers. My phone buzzed with that particular pattern I’d learned to associate with family drama. Three rapid vibrations always from my sister Clare.
Don’t come to the rehearsal dinner Friday. Jason’s dad is a federal judge. We can’t have you embarrassing us in front of his family.
This is important. Please just stay away. I read it twice.
Set my phone. Went back to the appellet brief in front of me. My clerk, Marcus, knocked softly.
Judge Rivera, the Henderson oral arguments are scheduled for 2:00. Do you need anything before we head to the courtroom? I’m fine, Marcus.
Thank you. He hesitated. You okay?
You look
just family stuff. Nothing that matters. That was the truth.
After 38 years, I’d learned exactly how much my family’s opinion mattered, which is to say, not at all. I was the mistake child. Mom and dad made that clear from the beginning.
Clare was planned, wanted, celebrated. I arrived three years later. Unexpected, inconvenient, expensive.
Clare got piano lessons. I got handme-down shoes. Clare got SAT prep courses.
I got a library card and told to figure it out. Clare went to state university with a full ride from mom and dad. I worked three jobs to put myself through community college, then transferred to state on academic scholarship.
You’ve always been so independent,” Mom would say, like it was a personality trait instead of necessity. When I got into law school, Dad’s response was, “How are you going to pay for that loans and scholarships?” I said, “Sounds irresponsible.”
Clareire graduated with a marketing degree and moved back home. Got a job at a local boutique making 30,000 a year.
Mom and dad were so proud. I graduated law school with honors, clerked for an appellet judge, then for a federal circuit judge, worked as a public defender for 6 years, applied for a federal judgeship at 35. When I got the appointment, I called to tell them.
That’s nice, Mom said. Clareire just got promoted to assistant manager. We’re taking her to dinner to celebrate.
I wasn’t invited. The thing about being a federal judge is that people assume you’re wealthy or that you came from money or that someone handed you the position. The truth is messier.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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