I haven't been following the dust-up about Phil Robertson's quotes in GQ magazine as closely as some, and I don't necessarily share the same feelings about them as does my sister, The Writing Diva. I think issues of race and sexual orientation in the South are more complex than those of us raised outside the South understand. When a white Southerner expresses a point of view about sexual orientation or race that isn't in line with moderate America's expectations, we're quick to dismiss that person as an ignorant, backwoods hick.
It's more complicated than that.
Maybe it's because of Nelson Mandela's recent passing that I'm stepping back and taking the longer view on what Phil Robertson said in light of his life experience and mine. Here's my life experience.
I lived in Mississippi for a year. What I learned living there is that even if Southern or rural Southern whites believe that the Bible forbids what you're doing or how you're living, that doesn't necessarily mean that they hate you or that they would mistreat you. My experience is that there is a Southern code of conduct, so to speak; I would call it "The Right Thing To Do": -- No matter what people might think of you or what you do, unless they're rabid racists, they're going to treat you with respect and human kindness just as they would want to be treated. The culture of respect runs deep in Southern culture. My mental litmus test for anyone, including Phil Robertson, is, "Would this person help me if I were stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire?" Trust me, you're more likely to be helped by a Southerner of any race than a Californian. Southerners of any race help strangers simply because it's The Right Thing To Do. I watch "Duck Dynasty," and although I've never met Phil Robertson, I think he would pass my litmus test.
There are a lot of Christians of all races who believe that homosexuality is a sin. That doesn't mean they hate gay people or would harm them. I don't recall there being this much of a dust-up when, on "R&B Divas," the singer Monifah, who came out, asked her daughter if she could support Monifah's union with her partner Terez. Her daughter said, "No, no I can't." It was a matter of faith, not hate, for her. It didn't mean that she loved her mother less; it simply meant that, as a matter of faith, she could not encourage a gay union. Good Christians are perfectly capable of hating the sin (or at least what they consider sin) and loving the sinner. They need to be because we're all sinners.
Finally, I think we have to look at context and life experience when taking the measure of someone. Phil Robertson's remarks about black people were based on his life experience, which I hazard to guess is rather limited. I doubt that black folks picking cotton with him back in the day could tell him how they truly felt about their lives and experiences. Just as we black folks today can't necessarily share all our feelings at work lest we be branded as radical or angry, I'd be willing to bet that the happy temperament of black folks that Phil Robertson experienced while picking cotton with them was the part of their feelings that was safe to share with whites during that time. That is what he experienced. The implication of his statement that this state of black affairs was "pre-welfare" and "pre-entitlement," although misguided and ill-informed, doesn't appear to me to be an expression of hate. Maybe I'm naïve.
I watch "Duck Dynasty," and I think many people who are quick to criticize Phil Robertson have never seen the show. I enjoy the show. The reason I enjoy it is because, like Tyler Perry's "Madea" movies, there's always a moral to each episode. I like that they are family that hasn't let wealth change them, they stick together, and they have all the same characters and problems that all families have: A crazy but loving uncle (Uncle Si); a patriarch (Phil Robertson) who, like many Southern patriarchs, is really ruled by the matriarch of the family (Miss Kay); and adult sibling rivalry (Jase and Willie). They end each episode at the dinner table saying grace and thanking the Lord for their blessings, like many families of all races do daily across the South. They truly appear to love one another, and it's clear that Phil Robertson loves his family deeply. What I don't see on the show, and what I've never seen, is hate.
I have advanced degrees from two Ivy League institutions, and I have lived all around this country. If you asked me to bet whether one of my "to the manor born" white Harvard classmates or white trash (his words) Phil Robertson would be most likely to help me if I were stranded by the side of the road, I'd pick Phil Robertson every time. He'd do it because, as a Southerner, he knows it would be The Right Thing To Do.
Home Ownership Is Not "Acting White"
This blog entry is dedicated to Bob "Treebob" Williams, who gave Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) the gentle nudge to buy his first home. Rest in peace, Bob.
Sadly, there are many characteristics that my people write off as "acting white": Being intelligent, speaking English well, doing well in school, having good credit. But there's one that strikes fear in my heart for the next generation: Home ownership.
The Housing Bubble and the Great Recession resulted in lots of African-Americans losing their homes. Many of us have written off home ownership, thinking of the whole real estate market as being shady (and there's something to that; more on that later) and of home ownership as being beyond our reach and for white folks.
The reason this scares me is that the gains we as African-Americans made in home ownership in the late '90's and early 2000's won't be regained if we as a people simply write off home ownership. Why does it matter? Because a home is the largest intergenerational wealth transfer that most people make. Because home ownership often sets the stage for paying for a child's education. Because home ownership can be part of the portfolio of assets that pay for retirement.
Watching us turn away from home ownership reminds me of an episode of "Sex in the City" when Carrie Bradshaw receives notice that her apartment building is going co-op. She's been given the opportunity to buy her apartment. One would think that Carrie, with her love of Manolos and all things luxe, wouldn't sweat buying her apartment. She does, though, because she can't afford it. So she writes off home ownership until, over lunch with Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, she discovers that they are all home owners. The vulnerability that Carrie felt -- that she could be out on the street at the whim of her landlord -- was palpable. In the end, Charlotte sells her wedding ring to loan Carrie the down payment on her apartment.
Home buying doesn't normally occur this way for black folks. That doesn't make it any less important.
The reason why I harp on this so much is that I wonder, "What will average African-Americans have to hand down to their children if they don't buy homes?" True, you will, on average, experience a higher rate of return from investing in stocks than in investing in real estate. And I don't consider home ownership to be a true "investment." But home ownership doesn't require the same level of expertise required to pick stocks, and it is highly subsidized by the government because of the mortgage interest deduction, and even more so if you are a veteran and qualify for veterans' home loans. You have to live somewhere -- why not own what you live in?
I'm not concerned about the wealth gap between African-Americans and whites for wealth's sake. I'm concerned about it because wealth means freedom. The more money you have, the more choices you can make about your life -- whether to go to college, where to live, what to do for a living. The ability to transfer wealth between generations is the basis for that economic freedom. Home ownership is part of the wealth transfer.
Yes, the Housing Bubble housing market was shady. Yes, Wells Fargo, Bank of America and other financial institutions conspired to put African-Americans in subprime loans. Yes, we need to be smarter the next time around. But you don't throw out home ownership entirely because you got burned. It's not about you. It's about the generations to come behind you.
Home ownership starts with an intention. The intention leads to a plan -- improving your credit, saving your money, having a stable job. It requires sacrifice -- fewer shoes, fewer Xboxes and flat screen TVs, more savings. And it may require flexibility -- if you live in a high cost area, you might have to buy somewhere more affordable -- like Texas. Instead of a house, you might have to start out with a condo. Instead of new construction, you might have to start with a fixer-upper and watch home improvement shows and how-to videos on YouTube. You might have to buy your house with other relatives, maybe with two or more families. You might have to buy in a not-so-great neighborhood and convert your local school into a charter school. But over time, the appreciation in value that normally occurs with home ownership (Real Estate Bubble notwithstanding) will inure to your benefit and the benefit of your children and their children.
What scares me now is that there are real estate investment firms that are buying up unfinished lots and building new homes solely for the purpose of renting them.
Not selling them. Renting them.
This phenomenon is playing itself out in Atlanta, and it looks like it's targeted toward African-Americans who want to live in a new house and can't afford to buy where they want to live. It's like real estate crack -- once you get that high of living in a brand new home that you rent, you're not willing to make the long-term sacrifice to buy a home that you can actually afford and trade up later. It's like trading off long-term financial benefit for short-term real estate euphoria. And we're falling for this real estate okey-doke yet again.
People, let's not fall for this again. The only thing renting a house does is make the owner of that house richer.
And, for the record, home ownership is not acting white. My parents owned their home. My uncles and aunts owned their homes. My grandparents owned their homes.
Wouldn't it be a shame if the pre-civil rights, "Jim Crow" generation of African-Americans transferred more wealth to us through home ownership than we transfer to the generations following us?
Sadly, there are many characteristics that my people write off as "acting white": Being intelligent, speaking English well, doing well in school, having good credit. But there's one that strikes fear in my heart for the next generation: Home ownership.
The Housing Bubble and the Great Recession resulted in lots of African-Americans losing their homes. Many of us have written off home ownership, thinking of the whole real estate market as being shady (and there's something to that; more on that later) and of home ownership as being beyond our reach and for white folks.
The reason this scares me is that the gains we as African-Americans made in home ownership in the late '90's and early 2000's won't be regained if we as a people simply write off home ownership. Why does it matter? Because a home is the largest intergenerational wealth transfer that most people make. Because home ownership often sets the stage for paying for a child's education. Because home ownership can be part of the portfolio of assets that pay for retirement.
Watching us turn away from home ownership reminds me of an episode of "Sex in the City" when Carrie Bradshaw receives notice that her apartment building is going co-op. She's been given the opportunity to buy her apartment. One would think that Carrie, with her love of Manolos and all things luxe, wouldn't sweat buying her apartment. She does, though, because she can't afford it. So she writes off home ownership until, over lunch with Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, she discovers that they are all home owners. The vulnerability that Carrie felt -- that she could be out on the street at the whim of her landlord -- was palpable. In the end, Charlotte sells her wedding ring to loan Carrie the down payment on her apartment.
Home buying doesn't normally occur this way for black folks. That doesn't make it any less important.
The reason why I harp on this so much is that I wonder, "What will average African-Americans have to hand down to their children if they don't buy homes?" True, you will, on average, experience a higher rate of return from investing in stocks than in investing in real estate. And I don't consider home ownership to be a true "investment." But home ownership doesn't require the same level of expertise required to pick stocks, and it is highly subsidized by the government because of the mortgage interest deduction, and even more so if you are a veteran and qualify for veterans' home loans. You have to live somewhere -- why not own what you live in?
I'm not concerned about the wealth gap between African-Americans and whites for wealth's sake. I'm concerned about it because wealth means freedom. The more money you have, the more choices you can make about your life -- whether to go to college, where to live, what to do for a living. The ability to transfer wealth between generations is the basis for that economic freedom. Home ownership is part of the wealth transfer.
Yes, the Housing Bubble housing market was shady. Yes, Wells Fargo, Bank of America and other financial institutions conspired to put African-Americans in subprime loans. Yes, we need to be smarter the next time around. But you don't throw out home ownership entirely because you got burned. It's not about you. It's about the generations to come behind you.
Home ownership starts with an intention. The intention leads to a plan -- improving your credit, saving your money, having a stable job. It requires sacrifice -- fewer shoes, fewer Xboxes and flat screen TVs, more savings. And it may require flexibility -- if you live in a high cost area, you might have to buy somewhere more affordable -- like Texas. Instead of a house, you might have to start out with a condo. Instead of new construction, you might have to start with a fixer-upper and watch home improvement shows and how-to videos on YouTube. You might have to buy your house with other relatives, maybe with two or more families. You might have to buy in a not-so-great neighborhood and convert your local school into a charter school. But over time, the appreciation in value that normally occurs with home ownership (Real Estate Bubble notwithstanding) will inure to your benefit and the benefit of your children and their children.
What scares me now is that there are real estate investment firms that are buying up unfinished lots and building new homes solely for the purpose of renting them.
Not selling them. Renting them.
This phenomenon is playing itself out in Atlanta, and it looks like it's targeted toward African-Americans who want to live in a new house and can't afford to buy where they want to live. It's like real estate crack -- once you get that high of living in a brand new home that you rent, you're not willing to make the long-term sacrifice to buy a home that you can actually afford and trade up later. It's like trading off long-term financial benefit for short-term real estate euphoria. And we're falling for this real estate okey-doke yet again.
People, let's not fall for this again. The only thing renting a house does is make the owner of that house richer.
And, for the record, home ownership is not acting white. My parents owned their home. My uncles and aunts owned their homes. My grandparents owned their homes.
Wouldn't it be a shame if the pre-civil rights, "Jim Crow" generation of African-Americans transferred more wealth to us through home ownership than we transfer to the generations following us?
If Mandela was a Communist and a Terrorist, What Were the Afrikaners?
I had been reading all the online tributes to Nelson Mandela, learning things about him that I didn't know (his favorite dish was tripe, which the author incorrectly identified as animal intestines -- tripe is stomach), when I made the mistake of reading the comments below one article. One commenter objected to the tributes for Mandela, calling Mandela a communist and a terrorist.
Really? And what were the Afrikaners?
I usually don't respond to stupidity because the response elevates the stupidity. But in this case, I won't let the ignorant corrupt history, anonymously online, no less. Never mind the fact that such comments violate the maxim that you should not speak ill of the dead.
We've seen this all before. When a great political figure, usually a person of color, is known for having stood up to make humankind accountable to the principles of freedom and equality, they are politically slurred in death without any reference to the context in which they acted. Think Dr. King.
True, Nelson Mandela had once been a communist. He also refused to renounce violence. But he didn't come to the world that way. If Mandela was a communist and a so-called "terrorist" (one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, and sometimes both -- ask the Mujaheddin in Afghanistan), he was made that way by the Afrikaners who came to his homeland and corrupted the idea of democracy. I guess Mandela, like many oppressed people, had the nerve to think that democracy and freedom and equality should go hand in hand. How dare he.
And therein lies the problem. Anytime a government or any majority corrupts a system of beliefs -- whether it's democracy or religion -- people who suffer under such corruption turn away from it. Why would you continue to support a system of beliefs that people hide behind in order to oppress you? If Nelson Mandela, Bayard Rustin and Paul Robeson were communists, it was because democracy had clearly failed and oppressed them and their people. They were not wrong. The terrorists wearing the mantle of democracy were. Think Bull Connor.
If Mandela was a so-called "terrorist," it was because non-violence in pursuit of freedom and equality in what was ostensibly a democratic society had failed. Non-violence by black South Africans in pursuit of freedom and equality was met with bullets, not conciliation. Nelson Mandela becoming willing to use violence in defense of his people was no different than the Black Panther Party doing the same, and for the same reasons. George Washington fights for freedom, and he's a patriot; Nelson Mandela fights for freedom, and he's a terrorist?
So to call Mandela, or any person with the courage to be willing to die for freedom, equality and democracy, a communist or a terrorist without reference to the political forces acting against them at that time is sheer ignorance.
The difference between Mandela and most people is that he wouldn't have even engaged in this debate out of the spirit of reconciliation.
Really? And what were the Afrikaners?
I usually don't respond to stupidity because the response elevates the stupidity. But in this case, I won't let the ignorant corrupt history, anonymously online, no less. Never mind the fact that such comments violate the maxim that you should not speak ill of the dead.
We've seen this all before. When a great political figure, usually a person of color, is known for having stood up to make humankind accountable to the principles of freedom and equality, they are politically slurred in death without any reference to the context in which they acted. Think Dr. King.
True, Nelson Mandela had once been a communist. He also refused to renounce violence. But he didn't come to the world that way. If Mandela was a communist and a so-called "terrorist" (one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, and sometimes both -- ask the Mujaheddin in Afghanistan), he was made that way by the Afrikaners who came to his homeland and corrupted the idea of democracy. I guess Mandela, like many oppressed people, had the nerve to think that democracy and freedom and equality should go hand in hand. How dare he.
And therein lies the problem. Anytime a government or any majority corrupts a system of beliefs -- whether it's democracy or religion -- people who suffer under such corruption turn away from it. Why would you continue to support a system of beliefs that people hide behind in order to oppress you? If Nelson Mandela, Bayard Rustin and Paul Robeson were communists, it was because democracy had clearly failed and oppressed them and their people. They were not wrong. The terrorists wearing the mantle of democracy were. Think Bull Connor.
If Mandela was a so-called "terrorist," it was because non-violence in pursuit of freedom and equality in what was ostensibly a democratic society had failed. Non-violence by black South Africans in pursuit of freedom and equality was met with bullets, not conciliation. Nelson Mandela becoming willing to use violence in defense of his people was no different than the Black Panther Party doing the same, and for the same reasons. George Washington fights for freedom, and he's a patriot; Nelson Mandela fights for freedom, and he's a terrorist?
So to call Mandela, or any person with the courage to be willing to die for freedom, equality and democracy, a communist or a terrorist without reference to the political forces acting against them at that time is sheer ignorance.
The difference between Mandela and most people is that he wouldn't have even engaged in this debate out of the spirit of reconciliation.
Thank You to the Family of Nelson Mandela
There's not much I can say about the passing of Nelson Mandela that hasn't already been said. I don't have the encyclopedic knowledge about him that historians and Wikipedia have. I participated in anti-apartheid sit-ins once or twice, not with the same commitment to the cause as some of my college and law school classmates. Much of what I know about him comes from accounts about him, not from what I observed first hand.
But there is something I can say that may not be said enough during this time of grief and mourning: Thank you to the family of Nelson Mandela.
We often forget that when someone accepts the mantle of leadership, they serve their cause, their country, or both, usually at the expense of their family.
Nelson Mandela's leadership of the ANC, his imprisonment, and his leadership of his country meant that his family was deprived of time that might otherwise have been spent with him. I doubt he would have had it any other way. His sacrifice was his family's sacrifice, too. They were deprived of him by imprisonment and then had to share him not only with the nation of South Africa, but with the world.
Thank you to the family of Nelson Mandela. At a time when you probably most wanted to hold him close and savor however many years he would have left after leaving Robben Island, you shared him with the world. The world is all the better for your sacrifice and his.
Godspeed, Madiba. My prayers, condolences, and deepest gratitude to the family of Nelson Mandela.
But there is something I can say that may not be said enough during this time of grief and mourning: Thank you to the family of Nelson Mandela.
We often forget that when someone accepts the mantle of leadership, they serve their cause, their country, or both, usually at the expense of their family.
Nelson Mandela's leadership of the ANC, his imprisonment, and his leadership of his country meant that his family was deprived of time that might otherwise have been spent with him. I doubt he would have had it any other way. His sacrifice was his family's sacrifice, too. They were deprived of him by imprisonment and then had to share him not only with the nation of South Africa, but with the world.
Thank you to the family of Nelson Mandela. At a time when you probably most wanted to hold him close and savor however many years he would have left after leaving Robben Island, you shared him with the world. The world is all the better for your sacrifice and his.
Godspeed, Madiba. My prayers, condolences, and deepest gratitude to the family of Nelson Mandela.
For Those of You Who Didn't Pass the CA Bar Exam the First Time (I Am One of You)
For those of you who didn't pass the California bar exam on your first try, I want to encourage you. I am one of you.
I remember getting the news that I didn't pass. I remember doubling over in pain, laying on the floor of my Oakland apartment nearly unconscious, hobbled by an infection that ravaged my kidneys, bladder and entire urinary tract.
I remember the guy I was supposedly dating at the time calling to "console" me ("Sorry you didn't pass . . . ") and hanging up despite the fact that he knew I was ill.
I remember one of my closest friends coming to the rescue, literally picking me off the floor and carrying me to the hospital, where I was told that if I had waited any longer I would have had to have been hospitalized.
I remember having to tell my family over Thanksgiving dinner that I had failed. My siblings tried to cheer me up and my dad reminded me, "You're the only one in this neighborhood qualified to even take the bar exam."
My mom was another story. She knew a pity party when she saw one. She said to me, and I've quoted her many times:
"Everybody falls down. But then you have to get up. I'ma let you lay down there for a little while, but then you have to get up."
So my exhortation to you is this: Get up. Do not let this one setback keep you from your future.
Let's clear up a couple of things:
The California bar exam usually has more people who fail it than pass it. More likely than not, you're in the majority, not the people who passed it.
Whether or not you pass the bar exam on your first try will not determine whether or not you will be a good lawyer. I've met a lot of great lawyers who did not pass on the first try and a boatload of lousy ones who did. The bar exam is not a reflection of your ability as a lawyer; it's a reflection of your ability to figure out what the bar graders want to see and give it to them in the manner in which they expect to receive it. Your law school may or may not have prepared you to do those things. I know mine didn't.
Harvard Law School, in my opinion, had professors who had little time or willingness to teach you the blackletter law you need to know like the back of your hand in order to pass a bar exam. The professors, for the most part, were more enamored of legal theory. Teaching the actual law was considered rather pedestrian, something you as a student could and should figure out on your own. I was able to get average grades with a mediocre knowledge of the law and the ability to parrot back whatever legal theory my professors were enamored of. Plus, most exams were open book exams.
The California bar exam, in contrast, was not, and it required a depth and breadth of knowledge of the law that I was not prepared for, despite the fact that my BarBRI practice exams said otherwise.
Another thing: You're more likely to pass the bar exam given in February than the one given in July. All the people who passed on the first try are gone, and there's a percentage of February takers who are multiple takers (more than two times) who, statistically speaking, may never pass. The competition is less, well, competitive. At least that's what Emerson Stafford told me, which leads to my next point:
Take a bar review course that has a focus on writing essay exams. Emerson Stafford was my bar review course instructor the second time around and the founder of Emerson's Tutorial Bar Review. Emerson taught his course from his Victorian home on Fell Street in San Francisco, and at every class we had to write a practice exam for the first half hour or so of the class in what was the equivalent of his living room. Just having to put pen to paper and write an answer, even if you didn't know the law, was good practice. As my knowledge of the law increased, my essay exams improved. Emerson has retired, but he has donated his lectures to the public. They can be found here. The BarBRI course I took the first time gave me a false sense of confidence about the quality of my essay exams. Emerson did not, requiring greater and greater analysis and a minimum word count to get a passing grade. Emerson was an engineer and had the statistics to show the minimum number of words needed on a California bar essay exam to be competitive. He also used to predict with great accuracy which topics would be tested on the bar exam. People who didn't even take his course would try to find out what his predictions were. If it weren't for Emerson Stafford, I doubt I'd be a practicing attorney today. I can say that about myself and my friends from Harvard Law School and Boalt Hall who were sitting next to me in Emerson's class.
Here's some more advice:
1) Put the entire bar review course on flash cards and memorize it. No, I'm not kidding. The process of putting the entire BarBRI bar review content from my first bar review course on flash cards -- over 3,400 or so flash cards written by hand in my case -- helped me learn all the material the second time around. I was writing those flash cards all the time and memorizing them everywhere and any time I could -- while eating dinner, while cooking dinner, while sitting on the toilet, you name it. I would separate out the flash cards I'd learned from the ones I hadn't learned and kept focusing on the ones I didn't know. By the time of the exam, there were only 200 out of the 3,400 cards that I didn't know cold -- about 5.8%. Not bad. When you are taking the bar exam, you have no time to think about what the law is -- you need to be spotting issues and writing analyses or picking the most correct multiple choice answer. You simply have to have all the law memorized. There is no short cut for this. I had to study for the bar exam the second time while finishing up my master's degree. If I can do it, so can you.
2) Categorize your errors. This is another thing Emerson taught me. Whether you're taking a multiple choice practice exam or an essay practice exam, categorize the errors you made into one of three categories: 1) Misunderstood the question; 2) Didn't know the law; 3) faulty analysis. If your errors are primarily category one errors, slow down when reading the question. If they are primarily category two errors, go back and review the law. If they are primarily category three errors, slow down in outlining your answer or analyzing the question.
Throughout my career I have been a law clerk for a federal judge, an associate with large and small law firms, a law professor, an attorney with a Fortune 500 company, and now the general counsel of a small government agency.
Not bad for someone who didn't pass on the first try.
Good luck and get up!
I remember getting the news that I didn't pass. I remember doubling over in pain, laying on the floor of my Oakland apartment nearly unconscious, hobbled by an infection that ravaged my kidneys, bladder and entire urinary tract.
I remember the guy I was supposedly dating at the time calling to "console" me ("Sorry you didn't pass . . . ") and hanging up despite the fact that he knew I was ill.
I remember one of my closest friends coming to the rescue, literally picking me off the floor and carrying me to the hospital, where I was told that if I had waited any longer I would have had to have been hospitalized.
I remember having to tell my family over Thanksgiving dinner that I had failed. My siblings tried to cheer me up and my dad reminded me, "You're the only one in this neighborhood qualified to even take the bar exam."
My mom was another story. She knew a pity party when she saw one. She said to me, and I've quoted her many times:
"Everybody falls down. But then you have to get up. I'ma let you lay down there for a little while, but then you have to get up."
So my exhortation to you is this: Get up. Do not let this one setback keep you from your future.
Let's clear up a couple of things:
The California bar exam usually has more people who fail it than pass it. More likely than not, you're in the majority, not the people who passed it.
Whether or not you pass the bar exam on your first try will not determine whether or not you will be a good lawyer. I've met a lot of great lawyers who did not pass on the first try and a boatload of lousy ones who did. The bar exam is not a reflection of your ability as a lawyer; it's a reflection of your ability to figure out what the bar graders want to see and give it to them in the manner in which they expect to receive it. Your law school may or may not have prepared you to do those things. I know mine didn't.
Harvard Law School, in my opinion, had professors who had little time or willingness to teach you the blackletter law you need to know like the back of your hand in order to pass a bar exam. The professors, for the most part, were more enamored of legal theory. Teaching the actual law was considered rather pedestrian, something you as a student could and should figure out on your own. I was able to get average grades with a mediocre knowledge of the law and the ability to parrot back whatever legal theory my professors were enamored of. Plus, most exams were open book exams.
The California bar exam, in contrast, was not, and it required a depth and breadth of knowledge of the law that I was not prepared for, despite the fact that my BarBRI practice exams said otherwise.
Another thing: You're more likely to pass the bar exam given in February than the one given in July. All the people who passed on the first try are gone, and there's a percentage of February takers who are multiple takers (more than two times) who, statistically speaking, may never pass. The competition is less, well, competitive. At least that's what Emerson Stafford told me, which leads to my next point:
Take a bar review course that has a focus on writing essay exams. Emerson Stafford was my bar review course instructor the second time around and the founder of Emerson's Tutorial Bar Review. Emerson taught his course from his Victorian home on Fell Street in San Francisco, and at every class we had to write a practice exam for the first half hour or so of the class in what was the equivalent of his living room. Just having to put pen to paper and write an answer, even if you didn't know the law, was good practice. As my knowledge of the law increased, my essay exams improved. Emerson has retired, but he has donated his lectures to the public. They can be found here. The BarBRI course I took the first time gave me a false sense of confidence about the quality of my essay exams. Emerson did not, requiring greater and greater analysis and a minimum word count to get a passing grade. Emerson was an engineer and had the statistics to show the minimum number of words needed on a California bar essay exam to be competitive. He also used to predict with great accuracy which topics would be tested on the bar exam. People who didn't even take his course would try to find out what his predictions were. If it weren't for Emerson Stafford, I doubt I'd be a practicing attorney today. I can say that about myself and my friends from Harvard Law School and Boalt Hall who were sitting next to me in Emerson's class.
Here's some more advice:
1) Put the entire bar review course on flash cards and memorize it. No, I'm not kidding. The process of putting the entire BarBRI bar review content from my first bar review course on flash cards -- over 3,400 or so flash cards written by hand in my case -- helped me learn all the material the second time around. I was writing those flash cards all the time and memorizing them everywhere and any time I could -- while eating dinner, while cooking dinner, while sitting on the toilet, you name it. I would separate out the flash cards I'd learned from the ones I hadn't learned and kept focusing on the ones I didn't know. By the time of the exam, there were only 200 out of the 3,400 cards that I didn't know cold -- about 5.8%. Not bad. When you are taking the bar exam, you have no time to think about what the law is -- you need to be spotting issues and writing analyses or picking the most correct multiple choice answer. You simply have to have all the law memorized. There is no short cut for this. I had to study for the bar exam the second time while finishing up my master's degree. If I can do it, so can you.
2) Categorize your errors. This is another thing Emerson taught me. Whether you're taking a multiple choice practice exam or an essay practice exam, categorize the errors you made into one of three categories: 1) Misunderstood the question; 2) Didn't know the law; 3) faulty analysis. If your errors are primarily category one errors, slow down when reading the question. If they are primarily category two errors, go back and review the law. If they are primarily category three errors, slow down in outlining your answer or analyzing the question.
Throughout my career I have been a law clerk for a federal judge, an associate with large and small law firms, a law professor, an attorney with a Fortune 500 company, and now the general counsel of a small government agency.
Not bad for someone who didn't pass on the first try.
Good luck and get up!
The Gift of Order (My Sister's Gift)
It took days, but I finally organized my pantry. Sure, the baskets from the Dollar Tree that I used to hold canned goods and condiments had already been labeled, and there was contact paper on the shelves (but not attached to it), but it wasn't organized and it wasn't functional. Stuff I use regularly was up high, while stuff I use occasionally was within easy reach. Now it's organized and functional.
This may not be a big deal to you, Dear Reader, but it is to me. Organization is not my strong suit. Nor is maintaining it.
I've been living in my house for five years, but I can say that I'm just now really moving in. In order to organize my pantry, I had to unpack wedding gifts that I had not opened since I married ten years ago. To be honest, I think that when Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I moved in, we just put stuff where we could find it and kept stepping. We didn't value functional organization enough to create it or maintain it. This is despite the fact that BMNB is a self-proclaimed neat freak. I think I brought him down.
To be honest, I thought the ability to organize a space, to create order from chaos, was a gift reserved to a few. One of those few is my older sister. She can look at a space that's a hot mess and create the Taj Mahal of organization -- beautiful and functional. She makes it look easy because it comes easily to her. I don't think she realizes that her ability is indeed a gift because it is second nature to her. She's the kind of person who goes through her mail weekly, tosses and shreds, and balances her checkbook to the penny. Pit her against any hoarder, and that hoarder is going down, although she would not want to work with hoarders because she doesn't want to work with their emotional issues. When I tell her that people pay good money to have people do what she does instinctively and for free, she shakes her head and says she wouldn't want to be bothered trying to get clients and making a business of it.
Because I thought organization was beyond my reach, and because I accepted the brand I and others put on me as this flighty, disorganized person, I would literally look at my pantry, turn my head in denial, close the door and walk away. I didn't realize what a gift having order is.
I had to not only want order, but believe that I could achieve it on my own. Having to prepare my house for an inspection by an adoption social worker and to host Thanksgiving gave me the gentle nudge I needed.
I started in the garage. "Everything goes through the garage," I told BMNB. We had been dragging around the same crap since we were both in college, and despite moving across the country, we never pared down our stuff. We just packed it up and took it with us, storing it when we didn't have enough space. It's been freeing to let things go, donate them, or Freecycle them. I'm a huge fan of freecycling -- you post what you have on your local Freecycle listserv, people who want it let you know, and you leave it on your front porch for pickup. Easy peasy. We're not done with the garage yet, but with Thanksgiving coming, we had to shift focus to the interior of the house.
I decided to make it fun by rewarding myself. Although I had trepidation about organizing and creating order, I knew that I do have a gift for creating beauty out of ho-hum spaces. I thought about what I'd really like to have to decorate our living room and family room, and I bought those items on sale, online or at thrift stores: Slip covers (since we won't be buying sofas anytime soon); curtains and drapery rods; chairs for my mother's dining room table (solid wood for $5 each from a local thrift store -- I got ten of them); headboards for the guest beds (I got them at a thrift store and plan to paint them); and a rug for the family room. I bought as much as I could as inexpensively as possible. My reward was that when I finished organizing the living room, kitchen and family room, I would get to put up the curtains, roll out the rug, put on the slip covers, and paint the headboards. My penchant for decorating/interior design would be the motivation for organizing.
If I had known how much peace order brings, I would not have needed to reward myself. Order is its own reward. When I walk into the pantry, it gives me peace. Once I cleared away stuff that was old, cleaned the shelves and lined them (this time I committed -- I actually attached the contact paper to the shelves), and put up wire shelving to hold appliances, I could slowly see the pieces coming together. When it was done, after throwing out a lot of old canned goods, grains and the like, I could see what food I really had. I could find things. And although I did it on a budget, the order in itself is just plain beautiful. It gives me peace to know exactly what I have and to be able to find it. I open that pantry door, and it's like a choir of angels starts singing the Hallelujah Chorus.
Having order is a gift, and you don't really appreciate it until you have it. And you can have it if you choose to achieve it.
I don't have my sister's gift of being able to instinctively create order out of chaos. She would have finished that pantry in hours, not days. I'm still not done organizing the rest of the kitchen, the family room, and the living room. But now I realize how much peace I deprived myself of all these years by thinking that order and organization were for other people and not for me. Like anything else worth having, you have to commit to achieving it and maintaining it, especially if it doesn't come to you as naturally as it comes to my sister.
If my sister ever changes her mind and starts a professional organizer business, I'll let you know.
For more information about freecycling, visit Freecycle.org for a local freecycling group near you.
This may not be a big deal to you, Dear Reader, but it is to me. Organization is not my strong suit. Nor is maintaining it.
I've been living in my house for five years, but I can say that I'm just now really moving in. In order to organize my pantry, I had to unpack wedding gifts that I had not opened since I married ten years ago. To be honest, I think that when Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I moved in, we just put stuff where we could find it and kept stepping. We didn't value functional organization enough to create it or maintain it. This is despite the fact that BMNB is a self-proclaimed neat freak. I think I brought him down.
To be honest, I thought the ability to organize a space, to create order from chaos, was a gift reserved to a few. One of those few is my older sister. She can look at a space that's a hot mess and create the Taj Mahal of organization -- beautiful and functional. She makes it look easy because it comes easily to her. I don't think she realizes that her ability is indeed a gift because it is second nature to her. She's the kind of person who goes through her mail weekly, tosses and shreds, and balances her checkbook to the penny. Pit her against any hoarder, and that hoarder is going down, although she would not want to work with hoarders because she doesn't want to work with their emotional issues. When I tell her that people pay good money to have people do what she does instinctively and for free, she shakes her head and says she wouldn't want to be bothered trying to get clients and making a business of it.
Because I thought organization was beyond my reach, and because I accepted the brand I and others put on me as this flighty, disorganized person, I would literally look at my pantry, turn my head in denial, close the door and walk away. I didn't realize what a gift having order is.
I had to not only want order, but believe that I could achieve it on my own. Having to prepare my house for an inspection by an adoption social worker and to host Thanksgiving gave me the gentle nudge I needed.
I started in the garage. "Everything goes through the garage," I told BMNB. We had been dragging around the same crap since we were both in college, and despite moving across the country, we never pared down our stuff. We just packed it up and took it with us, storing it when we didn't have enough space. It's been freeing to let things go, donate them, or Freecycle them. I'm a huge fan of freecycling -- you post what you have on your local Freecycle listserv, people who want it let you know, and you leave it on your front porch for pickup. Easy peasy. We're not done with the garage yet, but with Thanksgiving coming, we had to shift focus to the interior of the house.
I decided to make it fun by rewarding myself. Although I had trepidation about organizing and creating order, I knew that I do have a gift for creating beauty out of ho-hum spaces. I thought about what I'd really like to have to decorate our living room and family room, and I bought those items on sale, online or at thrift stores: Slip covers (since we won't be buying sofas anytime soon); curtains and drapery rods; chairs for my mother's dining room table (solid wood for $5 each from a local thrift store -- I got ten of them); headboards for the guest beds (I got them at a thrift store and plan to paint them); and a rug for the family room. I bought as much as I could as inexpensively as possible. My reward was that when I finished organizing the living room, kitchen and family room, I would get to put up the curtains, roll out the rug, put on the slip covers, and paint the headboards. My penchant for decorating/interior design would be the motivation for organizing.
If I had known how much peace order brings, I would not have needed to reward myself. Order is its own reward. When I walk into the pantry, it gives me peace. Once I cleared away stuff that was old, cleaned the shelves and lined them (this time I committed -- I actually attached the contact paper to the shelves), and put up wire shelving to hold appliances, I could slowly see the pieces coming together. When it was done, after throwing out a lot of old canned goods, grains and the like, I could see what food I really had. I could find things. And although I did it on a budget, the order in itself is just plain beautiful. It gives me peace to know exactly what I have and to be able to find it. I open that pantry door, and it's like a choir of angels starts singing the Hallelujah Chorus.
Having order is a gift, and you don't really appreciate it until you have it. And you can have it if you choose to achieve it.
I don't have my sister's gift of being able to instinctively create order out of chaos. She would have finished that pantry in hours, not days. I'm still not done organizing the rest of the kitchen, the family room, and the living room. But now I realize how much peace I deprived myself of all these years by thinking that order and organization were for other people and not for me. Like anything else worth having, you have to commit to achieving it and maintaining it, especially if it doesn't come to you as naturally as it comes to my sister.
If my sister ever changes her mind and starts a professional organizer business, I'll let you know.
For more information about freecycling, visit Freecycle.org for a local freecycling group near you.
God Bless The Child, Especially If The Pastor Won't
For S.T. My apologies for the delay.
Yours truly has been asked her opinion of a story in the news about Pastor Marvin Winans' refusal to bless the two year-old child of an unwed mother in a church dedication ceremony for two year-old children. The story states that the offer was made to bless the child outside of the dedication ceremony but not as part of it.
My response might surprise you.
Out-of-wedlock births present a problem for the black community, a large portion of which is steeped in religion and cultural beliefs. How do you celebrate the child of unwed parents without approving the means by which he or she arrived?
I would not pretend to tell the leader of a church how to run that church. I would not even think about telling Pastor Winans that he should do something he feels his faith compels him not to do. I do, however, think he missed a teaching moment and an opportunity to bring an entire family closer to God.
If I were Pastor Winans, I would have blessed the child and taught the child's parents. I would have required a meeting with both of them as a condition of having the child participate in the dedication ceremony. I would not have told them that they were wrong. I would not have shamed them. Instead, I would have explained what Pastor Winans must have believed was God's divine plan in requiring two parents to make a child and how a blessed union was God's way of making sure children would be taken care of. I would have asked why they hadn't married, and I would have put them in a support group for single parents to help them not make any more children out of wedlock. Most important, I would have tried to use the dedication ceremony as an opportunity to bring the entire family closer to God, to know His love AND His forgiveness.
In other words, I wouldn't have wielded my faith as a weapon of rectitude, but as a weapon of love and redemption. But hey, that's just me. I was raised to believe that a child is a blessing from God no matter how he or she gets here.
So there you have it -- BWB's response.
Yours truly has been asked her opinion of a story in the news about Pastor Marvin Winans' refusal to bless the two year-old child of an unwed mother in a church dedication ceremony for two year-old children. The story states that the offer was made to bless the child outside of the dedication ceremony but not as part of it.
My response might surprise you.
Out-of-wedlock births present a problem for the black community, a large portion of which is steeped in religion and cultural beliefs. How do you celebrate the child of unwed parents without approving the means by which he or she arrived?
I would not pretend to tell the leader of a church how to run that church. I would not even think about telling Pastor Winans that he should do something he feels his faith compels him not to do. I do, however, think he missed a teaching moment and an opportunity to bring an entire family closer to God.
If I were Pastor Winans, I would have blessed the child and taught the child's parents. I would have required a meeting with both of them as a condition of having the child participate in the dedication ceremony. I would not have told them that they were wrong. I would not have shamed them. Instead, I would have explained what Pastor Winans must have believed was God's divine plan in requiring two parents to make a child and how a blessed union was God's way of making sure children would be taken care of. I would have asked why they hadn't married, and I would have put them in a support group for single parents to help them not make any more children out of wedlock. Most important, I would have tried to use the dedication ceremony as an opportunity to bring the entire family closer to God, to know His love AND His forgiveness.
In other words, I wouldn't have wielded my faith as a weapon of rectitude, but as a weapon of love and redemption. But hey, that's just me. I was raised to believe that a child is a blessing from God no matter how he or she gets here.
So there you have it -- BWB's response.
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