in defiance of your peers' usual insistence on accomplishment in their leadership instead of charm. You are a charming young man, Mr. Lee, I will give you that. You are a remarkable tap dancer
"Sir----" "Well, you have just stubbed your toe rather badly, Mr. Lee.
Those few whiffs of that .. . controlled substance .. . last evening have ruined your little tight-rope act, and you are falling, falling."
He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the leather desk top, and rested his chin in both hands.
"Did you wish to say something, Mr. Lee?"
"No, sir."
"I should think not. I have very little more to say, myself." He leaned back in his chair and placed the foot back on the desk.
"You will not be rejoining us in the autumn, Mr. Lee. Oh, I'm not going to expel you, nor even make it impossible for you to return. You see, I am an optimist; I still believe that you might possibly make a decent attorney, even a fine one, should you gather your wits about you. I also have a high regard for your father, although I do not know him well. I admired his conduct during his term as governor, and, who knows? he might even serve his state well in the United States Senate one day, should his efforts in that direction not be unreasonably handicapped by the actions of an unthinking son."
I stared at my shoes on that one.
"Take a sabbatical, Mr. Lee. Think. I suspect you've never done much of that. Go forth and serve your country, should it call, and I expect it will, things being what they are on the Asian continent these days. This won't go on your record, and I won't speak to your father. Tell him what you like but don't come back here unless you are willing to exhibit to me a veritable transmogrification." He opened a file on his desk and began to study it. I sat, frozen with relief.
"Goodbye, Mr. Lee," he said, without looking up.
I rose and propelled myself toward the door.
"Oh, Mr. Lee," his voice from behind me halted me in my tracks.
I half turned.
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't get your ass shot off."
"No, sir." I fled the office, pausing at the building's entrance to press my brow against the cool marble. My relief at not being publicly humiliated was rapidly giving way to anxiety over what I would tell my parents. Shortly, I composed myself and started toward my dormitory. At least I wouldn't get my ass shot off. The old bastard. Apparently, he had not known that I was 4-F in the draft.
The following afternoon I entered my father's study and confronted him "and my mother with my plan, or rather, my lack of one. He was silent for a moment after I had finally stumbled through what I had to say. It was a habit of his to pause a bit before addressing any serious matter. It got him the undivided attention of his listener and, I suppose, gave him time to think. It was a habit that had served him well in the Georgia State Senate, as lieutenant governor and as governor, and might one day, as Dean Henry had noted, serve him well in the United States Senate.
"Two years in law school is a large personal investment to simply set aside," he said, finally.
"I'm not necessarily setting it aside permanently. I may go back and finish, I just don't know yet." I stole a careful glance at my mother, who was, uncharacteristically, holding her peace. She is
Irish.
"It's just that it doesn't seem real, yet. Law is still just an exercise, something to memorize and discuss, not something to do.
It was even that way when I interned at Blackburn, Hedger last summer; it was all so technical; I felt removed from it." All of this was true, though it had entered my consciousness only during the time since my meeting with the clean.
"Will," my mother said, "how long have you been thinking about this?"
"All year," I lied.
"When I came home for Christmas I didn't want to go back, but it seemed stupid to drop out in the middle of the year."
"It's not sudden then," she said, resignedly.
"No, Ma'am." I hated myself a little for deceiving her.
"I take it you
"Sir----" "Well, you have just stubbed your toe rather badly, Mr. Lee.
Those few whiffs of that .. . controlled substance .. . last evening have ruined your little tight-rope act, and you are falling, falling."
He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the leather desk top, and rested his chin in both hands.
"Did you wish to say something, Mr. Lee?"
"No, sir."
"I should think not. I have very little more to say, myself." He leaned back in his chair and placed the foot back on the desk.
"You will not be rejoining us in the autumn, Mr. Lee. Oh, I'm not going to expel you, nor even make it impossible for you to return. You see, I am an optimist; I still believe that you might possibly make a decent attorney, even a fine one, should you gather your wits about you. I also have a high regard for your father, although I do not know him well. I admired his conduct during his term as governor, and, who knows? he might even serve his state well in the United States Senate one day, should his efforts in that direction not be unreasonably handicapped by the actions of an unthinking son."
I stared at my shoes on that one.
"Take a sabbatical, Mr. Lee. Think. I suspect you've never done much of that. Go forth and serve your country, should it call, and I expect it will, things being what they are on the Asian continent these days. This won't go on your record, and I won't speak to your father. Tell him what you like but don't come back here unless you are willing to exhibit to me a veritable transmogrification." He opened a file on his desk and began to study it. I sat, frozen with relief.
"Goodbye, Mr. Lee," he said, without looking up.
I rose and propelled myself toward the door.
"Oh, Mr. Lee," his voice from behind me halted me in my tracks.
I half turned.
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't get your ass shot off."
"No, sir." I fled the office, pausing at the building's entrance to press my brow against the cool marble. My relief at not being publicly humiliated was rapidly giving way to anxiety over what I would tell my parents. Shortly, I composed myself and started toward my dormitory. At least I wouldn't get my ass shot off. The old bastard. Apparently, he had not known that I was 4-F in the draft.
The following afternoon I entered my father's study and confronted him "and my mother with my plan, or rather, my lack of one. He was silent for a moment after I had finally stumbled through what I had to say. It was a habit of his to pause a bit before addressing any serious matter. It got him the undivided attention of his listener and, I suppose, gave him time to think. It was a habit that had served him well in the Georgia State Senate, as lieutenant governor and as governor, and might one day, as Dean Henry had noted, serve him well in the United States Senate.
"Two years in law school is a large personal investment to simply set aside," he said, finally.
"I'm not necessarily setting it aside permanently. I may go back and finish, I just don't know yet." I stole a careful glance at my mother, who was, uncharacteristically, holding her peace. She is
Irish.
"It's just that it doesn't seem real, yet. Law is still just an exercise, something to memorize and discuss, not something to do.
It was even that way when I interned at Blackburn, Hedger last summer; it was all so technical; I felt removed from it." All of this was true, though it had entered my consciousness only during the time since my meeting with the clean.
"Will," my mother said, "how long have you been thinking about this?"
"All year," I lied.
"When I came home for Christmas I didn't want to go back, but it seemed stupid to drop out in the middle of the year."
"It's not sudden then," she said, resignedly.
"No, Ma'am." I hated myself a little for deceiving her.
"I take it you
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