During the first three years of my law practice (1983 to 1986), I rented an office from some other attorneys. In addition to the use of an office, I was allowed to use the other attorneys’ receptionist to answer a separate telephone line that I had set up in the reception area. My agreement also included an arrangement in which I was able to use one of the secretaries to prepare legal documents. She kept track of the time she spent doing my work, and I paid an agreed-upon hourly rate to the attorneys for her services.
Last November, I received a letter from the wife (“Carla”) of one of my longtime business coaches and mentors. In the letter, Carla said her husband (“Dan”) was going to be celebrating his 60th birthday in December. She said that, as a gift, she wanted to give him letters from his friends and colleagues. She asked if I would be willing to write a letter to her husband that told him how I had benefited from my relationship with him.
Earlier this month, I had a conversation with a judge who recently retired after serving as a state court judge for more than 20 years. For the purpose of this article, I’m going to call him “John.” John is in his early 60s, and during our conversation he asked me how many grandchildren I have. I told him that after adding three new grandsons last month, my wife and I have 10 grandchildren.
There’s a scene in the movie Ocean’s Eleven, when after being released from prison, Danny Ocean (portrayed by George Clooney) tracks down his ex-wife, Tess (portrayed by Julia Roberts). Although Danny is still in love with Tess, she no longer has any feelings for him and is romantically involved with Terry Bennedict, a wealthy, ruthless owner of three casinos in Las Vegas.
As I mentioned last week, during the time I was growing up in the 1960s and ’70s, we had limited access to telephones. Most of the communication that occurred between couples who were dating was in person. Parents were able to exercise a reasonable level of control over the amount of time their teenagers spent on dates by limiting the use of the family vehicle and by imposing curfews.
There is a frequent occurrence at my home that involves my three youngest daughters, Mary (21), Christine (19), and Teresa (17). They regularly engage in long discussions about the boys they come into contact with. Of course, the first piece of information they always share with each other is whether a new guy is “gorge,” which is short for “gorgeous.”
I can remember it like it was yesterday — my first hearing before a judge that involved a significant legal issue. I was 26 years old, and it was during my first year of practicing law (1983). The day before the hearing, I received a telephone call from John Mathers, the attorney I was renting an office from. He was out of the state on business and wasn’t going to be back in time to attend the hearing. He asked me to cover the hearing for him, told me where I could find the file, and explained the issues in the case.
Earlier this month, the Administration for Children and Families (ACF), which is a division of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, announced an $800,000 grant that is designed “to disseminate information about good fatherhood parenting practices by building research and practice knowledge and capacity” and to “increase positive father involvement in the lives of their children.” (Reread what I just quoted and see if it makes any sense to you.)