Last Three Weeks
Posted by: Ed Chernoff
March 03, 2007

I don't have the ability to compartmentalize. I don't multi-task. That is why I've been absent for the last four weeks. I've been embroiled in a multi-count federal bank fraud case that took three weeks, 21 witnesses and too many boxes of documents to count. So, among other things, I haven't blogged. I also haven't attended my son's soccer games, or enjoyed the company of the fairer sex. I don't know what's happening in Iraq, or the business part of my practice. Nor have I worked out or eaten any meal that requires more than twenty minutes. But I'm not complaining. I'm apologizing.

When I started this blog, I hadn't any idea that there would be folks out there who would actually read it on a regular basis. I viewed the blog as a way to vent my emotions and amuse my staff. I shouldn't have underestimated the power of this medium. I've received emails from folks who complain about me not finishing stories I've begun. I've run into lawyers at the courthouse who ask me about new posts. On two occasions last week, a client mentioned statements I made in the blog. People are reading and so strangely I feel an obligation to keep updating. For those who are interested, I vow to update every other day. I have alot to report, and for now at least, I have the time to do so.

Today I got the opportunity to watch my son's soccer game. For the first time in weeks, my mind wasn't filled with documents and flow charts and cross examination questions I wished I had asked. It was a beautiful day and I felt entirely relaxed. Early in the game my son, Fate, missed a pass to a teammate. As the game moved on around him, he stopped and clutched his head in despair. We all know about genetics, but it is always a surprise when we watch our children develop personality attributes that we have spent decades trying to rectify.

My stomach ached for him. I knew what he was thinking. My son has always been too hard on himself. Despite my constant admonitions that it is only a soccer game, that it is only a math test, that it is only a transient friend, he internalizes every perceived failure. I wish I could bear his pain for him, knowing as I do that every "failure" shall pass, but the best I can do is struggle through useless fatherly advise. I tell him that life presents failure and success in equal measure, and the best we can do is learn and react , but how can he understand this when he hasn't the experience to place something like a missed pass in perspective?

I remember the day Fate tried out for this select soccer team. For the first time, the other kids were faster and more skilled. I was standing on the sidelines and watched as he slowly come to this realization. Finally he came over to me and with tears in his eyes announced he was ready to go home. I asked him why. He said, "I can't do this Dad. These kids are way better than me!" I just blurted out, "Well, we aren't going home Fate. You are going to wipe your eyes and go out there and either succeed or make a fool of yourself."

I wasn't as gentle as I wanted to be and he seemed surprised. With tears streaming down his face, he asked "But why, Dad? Why can't we just go home?" My response crushed him, and I wondered if I had said the right thing. I wanted to protect him, to hold him and take him to the Nestle Tollhouse cafe around the corner and fill him with icecream and cookies, but I couldn't. I fumbled for the right words and then answered as honestly as I could. I put my hands on his shoulders and waited for him to look into my eyes. I said, "Because son, this is what life is about. We try and fail and then we fail some more until we make it. To be honest Fate, it doesn't get any easier from here, and if I let you quit now you will never get it. LIfe just sucks sometimes. It really does and the thing is, all you can do is learn how to live it. So we aren't going to leave. Not now. And if you make a fool of yourself, then we will deal with it together."

When I was done, I felt guilty. My words weren't measured for a ten year old and I realized that the speech I made was more directed at me than him. I absolutely knew that I had made it worse. I figured maybe I had shocked him because he stopped crying. He looked out at the field where the players were drilling and wiped his eyes. After a pause, he turned towards me and looked at me with sort of a half smile. "Gee thanks Dad", he said teasingly, "that REALLY makes me feel better!" Then he ran off and joined the other kids.

It's hard to take yourself seriously when you have kids! One Sunday, before a particularly grueling trial, Fate asked me why I was so tense. I told him about the upcoming trial. He said something I'll never forget, no matter how many cells die in my brain. "What are you worried about, Dad? You aren't going to jail, are you?" I laughed out loud. Of course, that wasn't the point, but the truth of the statement made it all seem better somehow. The next day, I suited up and ran off to court. It was going to suck, but I figured if I made a fool of myself, Fate and I would deal with it together.

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