I am not a woman. I do not no what it is like to be a female practicing or studying law; however, I do want to share my feelings with my female counterparts. There is something about me that she needs to know. On the surface, she and I have nothing in common. She and her friends have the option of putting their hair up or leaving it down. I have one style—bald. They have the choice of wearing the skirt suit or the pant suit. I have always chosen the latter. During finals few of them chose to shave their legs—well I did not shave mine either.
Like her, I too have stayed up all night, received a puddle of red ink on my first writing assignment, and was nervous the first time my teacher called on me in Torts. I suppose these are all things all law students experience, both male and female. However, when ever she first steps into a room people notice it before they even shake her hand. She is a woman. Often times, she is not, “one of them.” For me, I am not one of them either. I am a black man.
She and I, we share something. Before we even have a chance to speak, people automatically make assumptions about us. We have both been called “girl” or “boy,” even though we are just as qualified as any other male student or attorney. We often are seen as the representative of our entire group. We play with guys; however, some of them are not always willing to accept us. For better or for worse, we are different.
I know what it is like to be different. I know that she knows too. I pray that she and I will both use our differences to our advantage. I believe in her. I know she can do it. I do not think that she knows it; it is not like I have ever said it to her. However, I would like to tell her now: I am your biggest fan. I only hope that you feel the same way about me.
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