LIFE
My son will study law
My son is going to study law, he just does not know it yet. At age five he is still too young to be bothered with what he will be when he is older. In fact, he says that he does not want to grow older. He wants to remain five. Right now he is content with drawing, painting, singing, role-playing and decorating. Whether he ends up in photography like Kelechi Amadi-Obi; or an actor like Hill Harper; or fixing lives like Iyanla Vanzant; or an artist like Henri Matisse; or even the President of the United States like Barack Obama, he will bring home that law certificate.
I know, it is a bit hypocritical of me to be raising placards in the name of justice, and advocating for legal literacy on the one hand, and depriving my son of his liberty to choose what he will study in university on the other. But I follow in a long line of other mothers who have compelled their children to study law. Some say that law is a good foundational course – teaches critical thinking; logical thinking; encourages a broad perspective, etc. These are all good reasons but I have found that bare exertion of parental force also works. A little bribery does not hurt either. I have learned a few tricks from the best of parents who have led their children through the corridors of a faculty that they had no interest in, and the children have turned out to be sane adults, thriving with those rejected qualifications.
The boy owes me this one request.
For all the times when my morning plans have had to change because he dropped a toy en-route to school and I have had to retrace our steps to find that 2cm toy hiding in the grass somewhere.
For all the times that I have had to forfeit the last yummy bite of my dessert because he had to have it.
For all the times that I missed out on watching my favourite shows on television so that he could watch his cartoons.
For all the times that I just wanted to have a restful weekend, indoors, doing nothing, and had to drag myself out to take him to a birthday party.
For all the times that I have had to crawl around on all fours, pretending to be a unicorn.
For all my property destroyed at his hands – that laptop; and the other accessory. I am sure there is more to come.
For all the times that I have to travel in the middle seat of an airplane because he likes to have the window seat. The window seat used to be MINE!
For all the times that I have put in my best effort in drawing something at his request and been told that my effort did not quite cut it. My wounded pride has to count for something in this life.
So the subtle propaganda has begun. The, “Wouldn’t it be so cool to be a lawyer?” when we are watching a law programme together. The, “Lawyers, help people; you like to help people, don’t you?” when he asks what lawyers do.
The boy will hand me his law certificate, and then he can go off and do whatever he wants after that. But first, OUR law certificate.
