Glen Tate: 299 Days: The Preparation

“Yes, I’m an American history major,” Grant said.

“Would you like to work for me as a researcher?” Professor Estes asked.

Grant blurted out, “A job working on this? Getting paid to learn about the Revolutionary War? Hell, yes.” Then he corrected himself. “I mean, yes, Professor.”

Grant ended up producing a senior thesis paper on the differences between the American and French Revolutions. It was even published in a scholarly journal, a very rare honor for an undergraduate. For a senior seminar project, he wrote about the differences between the guerilla warfare in the American and French Revolutions. He compared the theories of Mao and those of the American revolutionary guerilla leaders and found that tactically, they were largely the same.

The UW was so different than Forks. Grant thought that just about everyone he met, especially the rich kids, lived in such an artificial world. In their world, food was always in the grocery store, the power was always on, and the police always came when they called 911. They had no idea what being hungry was like, what a cold night was like, or what violence was.

Lisa fell into this category. Grant couldn’t expect a beautiful, charming, future doctor girlfriend to be a hillbilly. In fact, her being a hillbilly would defeat the whole purpose of Grant starting a life in the suburbs with a respectable job and a respectable wife. Hillbilly was exactly what Grant was trying to get away from.

But every time Grant saw how the affluent Bellevue people lived, he kept wondering how this could be sustained. No one else seemed to be wondering about this. He couldn’t get his mind off of this topic: American life was unsustainable. He thought about it all the time, in between thinking about Lisa and his future life in the suburbs.

American history was great and all but Grant found something that was even cooler, and that would pay better.

He had always worked at least one job since he was kid. He wanted to earn some more money—partying and having a girlfriend wasn’t free—so he took a job at the federal prosecutor’s office as a photocopy clerk. He got to meet all kinds of lawyers and FBI agents. It was very cool. He quickly realized that he could be a lawyer.

Grant was drawn to the law. His mind naturally worked like the law: elements, applying the facts, coming to a conclusion supported by a law, and making arguments. He could instantly pick up on legal theories and could remember every detail of legal cases and history. It was weird. He was made to do this.

Many people he respected were telling him that he should go to law school. He brought up the idea with Lisa.

“Law school would be great for you,” she said with a huge smile. “We could do med school and law school at the same time.” She had stayed a pre-med major and was getting straight As. She was actually going to be a doctor. She was also probably very glad that she could tell her family that her boyfriend from little old Forks was going to law school. It sounded a lot better than a “history major.” And way better than “unemployed logger.”

Grant remembered his conversation with his Grandpa: “Only rich people can be lawyers.” Well, now, he was about to be one.

The one thing Grant didn’t think about much during these years was Forks. He was completely wrapped up in Lisa, school, working, achieving, achieving, and achieving some more. He was getting papers published, planning on law school, and was in a very serious relationship with a gorgeous soon-to-be doctor. He was accomplishing everything he set out to. And more. Lots more. This was the path he thought about when he was nine. It was all coming true.

About a year into their dating, Lisa invited Grant to meet her parents. Grant was nervous. They would be on to him and his hillbilly past.

Past? Yes, it was his past now. He was a completely different person. He wasn’t a loser anymore. He was a respected person. He figured he could pull off meeting the parents.

When they drove to her parents’ house, Grant could not believe how big and beautiful it was. It was the nicest house he had ever seen. Later he would think about it; they had a nice house, but it wasn’t a mansion. It was just so much better than the shack Grant had grown up in.

Lisa’s dad, Andrew “Drew” Taylor, was a partner in a giant national accounting firm. Her mom gardened a lot. When he met Mr. Taylor, Grant shook his hand firmly and said, “Pleased to meet you, Sir.”

Lisa’s dad appreciated the “Sir” part but said, “Please, call me Drew.” Grant nodded.

Lisa’s mom, Eileen, seemed nice. He lightly shook Mrs. Taylor’s hand and said, “Pleased to meet you too, ma’am.” “Call me Eileen, Grant,” she said.

So far, so good.

They got to know each other. Surprisingly, Lisa’s parents both grew up on farms in Eastern Washington. Eastern Washington was the rural part of the state. It was nothing like Seattle. Lisa’s parents were down to earth people. They had worked hard, achieved a lot, and were respectable people. Lisa and her parents actually appeared to like each other; it seemed so different than how Grant grew up. He felt comfortable around them, but in their nice home he still felt like a hick masquerading as a college student.

They had dinner and Grant was not making any mistakes. He knew which fork was for salad and which was for dessert. He didn’t try to be funny or to be… himself. He was playing it safe.

“So, Grant,” Drew said, “Lisa tells me you’re a history major. What do you plan to do with that?” He didn’t say it like a put-down; he was genuinely curious.

“I plan on going to law school,” Grant announced with pride. The Taylor’s eyes perked up. Lisa hadn’t told them that; she wanted to surprise them with the good news in person.

Going to law school was the right answer. “I am interested in being a judge, perhaps,” Grant said. He never used the word “perhaps” except in fancy settings like this.

Law school? Maybe a judge? That was music to the Taylors’ ears. The night went well. The Taylors were nice and they seemed to think Grant was OK. No one asked about Forks.

Grant took the law school entrance test and did very well. He got into the University of Washington and didn’t even use the Indian thing.

Lisa got into the UW Medical School the same year. They were set.

Now it was time to get married. It wasn’t even a “decision”; they both knew it was going to happen. Grant proposed to Lisa by getting on his knee. She said “Of course, Mr. Pickle Lover.” They were ecstatic.

Next came the first year of law school and med school. This was the year of homework; crazy amounts of homework. Both were doing well in school. Lisa really liked medical school, and she was thinking about being an emergency room doctor. She was competitive and loved the challenge of making life and death decisions.

Grant loved the law, which wasn’t a surprise, but he really disliked most of the people in law school. They were mostly arrogant. Grant wasn’t sure why they were that way, because he was as smart as or smarter than they were. They were so impractical. These future lawyers couldn’t do anything other than spout off theories. They were like an exotic flower grown in perfect greenhouse conditions; these impractical idiots couldn’t survive a day out in the countryside. None of them had ever worked a day in their lives. Most were spoiled little brats. What happened in class one day illustrated it all.

Grant was in Trial Advocacy class, which is where students learn how to do a trial. It included examining witnesses, opening and closing arguments, that kind of thing. They used a made up case for their trial. Grant was assigned to defend an alleged gunman who held up a liquor store. The evidence showed that the defendant held a semiautomatic pistol in his left hand, clicked off the safety, and shot the victim. Grant knew something was wrong. He asked the witness (played by someone in his class) if she was absolutely sure that the gunman did this with his left hand. She was; it was definitely his left hand. She was left handed herself and recognized a fellow lefty.